Chapter Text
The first time he felt the horrible, stinging pain in his stomach, he had not even noticed. It barely stood out from the other, more overwhelming pain he felt in his chest, in his dead heart. How could it be dead yet continue to hurt this much? He was in Karl’s appartement, Karl’s bloated body lying next to the carpet on which he sat. The stench was almost unbearable, but why would he move? Why remove himself from this situation when he could not remove the stake through his heart.
Karl had been a lawyer, specializing in corporate law. He loved to win, more than anything else. He found it no problem that his wins allowed a company to continue poisoning a river that many locals used as their daily source for drinking water. His wins also allowed the company to lie about it, and to throw out the parents when they came knocking with their dead children. Armand wished he was a dead child.
He would have been a beautiful dead child. A desirable one. Dead children are universally beloved. He wished he could hear them speak. Armand was the sweetest child there ever was they would begin. Look at how he lies in his coffin. Look at his round face and how his lashes are resting so sweetly on his cheeks. The pallor of death reveals what life never could. How sad we are that he is dead, but how glad that we gaze upon his stiff charming body. We will look, but we cannot touch, though we wish to.
But Armand was not yet Armand when he was a child. And Arun would not have been a beautiful dead child. His starved body would have been discovered by the madam. Or perhaps he would have been beaten too harshly by a patron. Or finally found the courage to dangle with a noose from the roof and damning himself by ending it. Amadeo then. To call Amadeo a child was… complicated. It invited speculation about Him. Armand did not want to think about Him. But Armand seldom got what he wanted, and so his mind drifted back to the night he killed Karl.
Armand had been doing…, well, he had been doing activities. He occasionally hunted, he slept sometimes and he tried to ignore the songs his one ex was blasting about his other ex while he was being interviewed by his ex from the seventies. He was fine. He had also just found out that Louis had blocked his access from their joint account when the hotel manager came to his room to inform him that his card had been declined and to kindly but firmly ask him to provide an alternative form of payment or to leave.
Half the money had been his, he sourly thought. For all Louis’ grandstanding beliefs about making deals, Armand had often provided the soft power necessary. He charmed the bored wives of the other collectors. He entertained, he wined and dined, he laughed at just the right moment and dispersed any tension. He allowed the wandering hands, the too-close “just scootching by’s” and let them think that their vapid conversations were truly intriguing, mister Lamer. Now mister du Lac has just the thing for an intellectual such as yourself. Have some more wine, please!
Two could play the game, and if Louis wished to play the rich ex-husband, then Armand would play the wife that would rob him of all his assets in the divorce. As such, he was in need of a lawyer. Luckily, they were not hard to find in New York. This is where he met Karl. Not his attorney, of course, but he had been harassing her for two months straight. He had been waiting for her after they came out of the room. Armand suggested to get some drinks with Karl instead. So far, so good. They went to Karl’s apartment. The door hinges needed to be oiled. Karl turned on the television. Armand had a drink. Karl died. As Armand was savouring his last heartbeat, he heard His name.
“Marius saved me.” Lestat said on screen. “He took me from my self-imposed grave and allowed me absolution in his grace.”
Karl’s body thudded on the ground. Armand stayed in front of the television, unmoving and unseeing. Lestat had a wishful look about him on the screen. Daniel’s off-screen voice interrupted him, but it was all static noise to Armand. He grabbed the remote and replayed the episode. It had come out seven months ago. The interview would have taken place a year ago, at the very least. He did not move for a very long time. Something stirred inside his body.
Karl’s body went from algor mortis to rigor mortis to livor mortis. He became bloated and started excreting noxious gasses. His skin started to slip off. Liquid was forced out of his nose and mouth. Now, flies were buzzing around him, laying eggs, and maggots were digesting him. Armand wished that the flies would pay attention to him. He tried to let a maggot burrow inside of his veins by scratching open his wrist and dropping the animal in, but it was not interested. The little wriggling larva had gleaned that he was beneath even the carrion of the world. In this state, the stomach pain had not registered. It was part of the overall agony of existence. He was crucified by the knowledge that none would want him. Four vampires, four nails restraining him to the cross. Hand, hand, foot and foot. Lestat, Louis, Daniel and Marius. His beloved maker, his saviour. He wished he died as Amadeo. Would his maker have wept over the beautiful not-child? Or would he have cried in relief? Armand did not know anymore.
The pain grew with his grief. A sharp horrible feeling twisted in him, blooming from his stomach up to his chest, through his throat until he gagged. A single, blood stained magnolia petal fell to the floor. Armand stared at it. It was a pale pink colour beneath the blood, crumpled up and wet with his saliva. Somewhere inside of him something unfurled. It was small, barely noticeable but he could feel it growing. It was not alive, but not dead either. He stood up. He had never heard of this happening with a vampire before. A cruel joke played by the universe that he should be the first to suffer from it. Or was it penance? Perhaps in his pain he would finally shed himself and be reborn anew, a beloved infant unburdened by his past. He brushed himself off. Dust scattered down, dancing in the sunlight and mocking him in their joyful twirls. Upstairs, he found Karl’s office which contained his laptop and phone. Bored, Armand scrolled through the increasingly frantic messages from his parents and the stern emails from his work. It was unfortunate that Karl had not owned an iPad, but Armand made do. Soon, he was deep into research about his affliction. In humans, the disease ended in death if left untreated and love remained unrequited. The treatment was elegant in its simplicity. One simply had to cut away the bud at the very core of it. With the removal of the root, all feelings that had caused it would disappear as well. Armand had a surgery to perform, and he would need to have plenty of blood to stay conscious during it. The hunt was on.
He called in a wellness check on Karl’s apartment for some at-home delivery service. The two cops that showed up were exactly the type he needed. Corruption, greed and domestic violence. All covered up of course. Armand descended from the stairs with a smile, unsheathing his fangs. He savoured the terror in their expressions, their fumbling hands as they reached for their useless weapons. “Rest.”
They dropped to the floor. He approached, his hunger flaring suddenly. It had been weeks since he had fed. Within him, his centre began to burn. He leaned over one of the sleeping men and pierced his neck with his fangs. The burning expanded. Rapidly it overtook his insides, clawing its way outside through his throat. A petal fell out. He tried again, but even as he felt the blood touching his canines, the pain renewed. Something was lodged just below his larynx, and the mouthful of blood would not go past it. It kept on swelling the more he tried to swallow, until he feared it would burst out of his throat.
He spit out the blood. Vaguely he thought that if he was human, he would be at real risk for suffocation. The pressure remained even, but it was not going down. With grim determination he stuck his fingers in his mouth and went digging. It sat deep, with long clinging roots. A soft tug did nothing, though for a moment Armand could swear it seemed to grip him tighter. He closed his eyes and yanked with all his strength. With a terrible piercing sensation, it dislodged. In horror, Armand stared at the hawthorn branch in his hands. The thorns were small, no larger than his fingernails, but he knew they could easily grow larger.
Experimentally, he dropped some blood on the branch. It writhed, growing larger and piercing his finger. He dropped it. Hesitantly, he licked off the blood on his finger. Almost immediately he could fee something stirring inside of him, only settling down once he removed his finger from his mouth.
The realisation set in slowly. There was something alive inside of him. An entity willing to fight him for control. He rushed to the mirror, ripping off his shirt in his haste. There was nothing. No indication that something nestled in between his rotting organs. He cut open his finger, tried to drink his own blood and felt it swelling. He stared at the mirror. There it was. Movement in his belly, a tendril underneath his skin crawling up. With a scream he tore open the skin, clawing inside until he could see his own heart beating sluggishly. He grabbed his ribcage and wrenched it open. There, entangled within his oesophagus he saw the next strand climbing up. French Roses, Hawthorn and Magnolia’s bloomed together. He pried it off, fighting with the thorns that were already enrooted inside like a clawed hand desperately gripping a ledge. With his hand he followed the sprout, pushing further inside between his large intestine and pancreas. Pain seemed too small of a word to describe what he was feeling. Four meagre letters, one syllable. How could that even approach the blazing heat that he felt as he shifted through his own squishy, lukewarm flesh. How could he ever recount crashing down unto his knees, the dark spots in his vision, as he felt a hard, writhing mass of thorny roots enmeshed within him. He closed his hands around it, felt it latch onto his fingers, consume his hands even as he readied himself for one final burst of strength to remove it.
🌸
Marius, his head thrown back in laughter. His glorious red coat billowing in the wind as he laughed at a joke Amadeo had made. His cold hands cupped Amadeo’s face as he covered him in kisses until Amadeo tried to squirm away. Effortlessly, Marius kept him there, rewarding him with his sweet lips and a blood-filled mouth. Sweet euphoria! How Amadeo longed for that taste, how he begged for it. He did his best to show Marius his appreciation. Batted his eyelashes when Marius looked at him in between kisses, blushing like a virgin. Marius touched his cheeks and Amadeo sighed softly before turning his head to suck Marius’ fingers inside his mouth. For a moment Amadeo feared he made the wrong move, that he had shattered this beautiful moment but then Marius chuckled. “My little savage Amadeo. Let us retire to the bedroom, for I believe you are in need of a little education.”
“Say rather a very large education, master.” Amadeo spoke boldly. “And I shall endeavour to be a most diligent student, letting the knowledge penetrate me as deep as possible.”
Amadeo was lifted up, his head nestled securely against Marius’ breast “Be careful my child, otherwise I will have you reciting the Romans of old instead.”
Amadeo laughed. “I shall recite roman poetry now, if it pleases you! Give me a thousand kisses, then another hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet another thousand more, then another hundred.[1]”
🌸
The blond Frenchman was trembling. For all his bravado and posturing he was as nervous, if not more, than Armand. It was charming. It made Lestat real instead of a godlike phantom send to liberate Armand from his Children. He sat on the bed, his hair still wet as Lestat bustled around with warm water and different soaps. His hands, so confidently wandering when Armand took his own bath, were now rubbing anxiously together at the thought of undressing in front of someone else’ gaze. He dipped into his mind and found a cluster of images of Magnus, a dungeon, hands undressing him. Armand retreated. This feeling he knew all too well, and he had no wish to relive it. So be it. With feigned nonchalance he stood up, ignoring Lestat’s gaze as he wandered around the room and picked up one of the violinist’s books. With a sigh, he sunk down into the bed and pretended to be wholly absorbed in L’histoire de la musique.
He heard Lestat disrobing and the water splashing as the other sunk down in the bath with a groan. Soon, Lestat was humming below his breath, his thoughts slowly turning to pleasant warmth and satisfaction. It was a good background noise. Armand forced himself to pay attention to the writing in the book, and soon he found himself actually interested. Though music had not been his area of study in the palazzo, the book nevertheless demonstrated how much he had missed crawling in the catacombs. It was just describing the use of binary form in musical composition written by Mozart and Haydn. Both names meant nothing to Armand, but he found himself eager to seek out the knowledge.
Fully immersed in the book, Armand startled when Lestat swooned down onto the bed next to him. He had apparently recovered his confidence for he remained gloriously nude. “I must know what has captivated you so, ma belle.”
Armand smiled, showing him the cover. “It is nothing, Lestat. I am simply passing the time.”
A flash of shame, a darkening of Lestat’s countenance even as he smiled to cover it up. “I hope it is at least a libertine, if you are so distracted. Perhaps some Marquis de Sade? I believe that Justine is truly salacious. Do read some out loud to get us in the right mood.”
“This is certainly a bit drier.” Armand answered. “But I would be interested in exploring this literature with you. Have you read his work, or only Justine?”
There was the twitching of Lestat’s eyelid, before a forceful laugh split the quiet between them. “I have not had the pleasure. Should I be jealous of this book that so clearly draws your attention?”
Armand smiled. It was good to be wanted. “I am sure we can make some music of our own.”
Lestat frowned, a split second of confusion. Armand touched his mind again, fearful that he had come on too strong. He found disgruntlement and jealousy. A memory of his brothers dragging him back from the monastery. It was a revelation to Armand. This man that seemed so worldly was not reacting to his joke because he could not read. This was something Armand could give him. Something Armand could offer to his soon-to-be lover. Now, he just had to make sure not to hurt Lestat’s ego. “This book speaks of many composers such as Mozart. Have you heard of them before?”
Lestat scoffed. “Do not presume to soothe me with your feigned ignorance. I know well my failings.”
Armand did not answer, choosing instead to send the sensation of reading the book to Lestat, showing his puzzlement over the names of these supposedly famed composers. Lestat gasped softly. “We have much to teach each other” Armand murmured. “but immortal as we are, we shall have all the time we need. Would you tell me of these musicians? Then in return, I shall fetch the book Justine and the world it contains in the written word. I shall be your guide, if you would be mine.”
Lestat laughed and stood up, walking to the bookcase and returning with the book. The engraving on the front page was quite explicit. Softly, Armand began to read, pointing out the letters that formed words, and enunciating carefully. “O mon ami! La prospérité du Crime est comme la foudre, dont les feux trompeurs n’embellissent un instant l’atmosphère, que pour précipiter dans les abymes de la mort, le malheureux qu’ils ont ébloui[2].”
🌸
His dreams were invaded by ships and shackles. Running with bare feet on the hot ground. Hot ashes and burned bones, the smell of drying paint.
He woke up whimpering; Louis still curled around his back. His companion groaned as he woke and Armand tried to stifle his sounds. He made to get up but Louis grabbed him when he attempted to get up and out of bed. Gently he extracted himself, presenting an image of normalcy. “Breakfast in bed, my love, I shall warm the blood.”
Louis protested, opening one eye. “Breakfast is leaving bed, ‘s how I see it.”
Armand laughed faintly and bared his neck. “As you wish, Maître.”
Louis leaned forward, baring his fangs and burying them in Armand’s neck. He could feel them piercing his skin even as the blood was being pulled out of him. Louis held out his wrist in invitation. Gratefully, Armand latched on.
There was no need to speak when they were connected through the blood like this. Armand could feel Louis’ grogginess and the satisfaction of a stomach filling with warm blood. He could feel it slowly turn into concern as Louis realised how unsettled he was. Armand did his best to soothe him, to convey how he loved the sharing of the blood. He did not know how much Louis believed him, but it was enough to be drawn into a warm, lazy kiss. It was bliss. Louis stood up with one lingering look, walking towards the bathroom. “You comin’?”
Not content to wait, Louis grabbed Armand’s hand, kissing it with a bow before leading him to the bathroom. There, he took his time undressing Armand, plying him with sweet kisses all the while. Armand arched his back, but Louis simply took his hand and led him under the warm spray of water. The steam of the shower did nothing to hide Louis’ loveliness. His strong shoulders, tapering down into beautiful hips and a fine behind for all that were allowed to look. Louis rinsed him off, shampooed and conditioned his hair and rinsed that off too. His strong hands lingered on Armand’s shoulders, massaging the tension out. When Armand turned around to offer him the same service, he took him in his arms, allowed their bodies to touch and sway under the water. Nightmare?
Armand hummed softly. “Not worse than usual. Yet you chase all nightmares away with your very presence, please allow me to return the favour Maître.”
He tried to turn around to kiss Louis, to sink to his knees, but Louis prevented him with a gentle pressure. His mind asked for entrance and Armand let him in. Let me do this for you, my love. No compensation except for your solace.
He walked out of the shower, took the towels off the heater and held them out for Armand. He wrapped the towels securely around him and led him to sit in front of the vanity. There, he oiled Armand’s hair, and weaved gel through his curls. By now, he knew Armand’s routine as well as his own. He kneeled, washing Armand’s feet and laying slow kisses against the arch of his foot. Armand wanted to pull away, to protect Louis from his dirtied feet but was deterred by the closing of Louis’ fingers around his ankle. Louis’ kisses slowly trailed up his legs, with one final kiss on the bony part of his right knee. “Stay here.”
Armand did. Anything for Maître. Louis returned swiftly with his favourite trousers, and a new kurta the colour of a sunset. It was embroidered with intricate patterns of birds and flowers. ‘It’s Muga silk, it can last for centuries and never lose its sheen, much like someone else I know.”
Armand let himself be dressed, preening at the adoration in Louis’ gaze. The silk was soft, gliding smoothly over his skin and complimenting its colour. With a laugh, Louis spun him around before kissing him firmly on the lips. “Let’s go to the harbour today, see the ships set sail.”
With that suggestion, Armand could only pull him closer, leaning his forehead against Louis’. This was love.
🌸
“- and this is what happens if these companies continue to put profit over safety.” Daniel ranted to Armand, waving around a news article about the Kemeny commission. “We are playing Russian roulette with literal nuclear power, as long as we allow the dollar to reign supremely.”
Armand listened to his beloved voice, the cadence of his delivery as Daniel continued his passionate monologue. It was always a gift to see Daniel ‘on a roll.’ The way his eyes lit up like the bud of a cigarette when he spoke of the newest American scandal. It was rather amusing. Armand wondered what it would be like, to be so close to a nuclear reactor. Could vampires get radiation sickness? Could the DNA in his cells mutate until it formed a cancer? Did his cells still divide at all? Strange, to be so aware of the functioning of the human body. Stranger still that even children learned these facts nowadays. The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.
“-Mand? Armand! You’re not even listening to me, you devil!”
“Do you think that my mitochondria still have a purpose, or were they made obsolete long before I ever learned of their existence?”
Jeez. Armand listened in shamelessly. How the fuck- nevermind. I never know where his mind goes, always off on his own. But how cut-”
Armand frowned. “I am not cute. I am a-”
“-you are a bloodthirsty monster that feeds on the blood of men, having haunted humanity for centuries.” Daniel teased. “And you are cute. A cute little bloodsucker.”
Armand did his best to look menacing but gave up when Daniel thought very loud at him. CUTE. Cute little face, cute little frown, cute little creep. It was quite difficult to regain his equilibrium as Daniel continued to chant in his own mind. Cute hands, cute nails, cute thumbs, cute pointer fingers. Armand sighed, feigning annoyance but he could not prevent the smallest uptick of his lips. “You’ve made your point.”
-Cute wrists, cute forearms, cute elbows, cute biceps- wait did he just smile? He totally did! CUTE MOUTH, CUTE LIPS, CUTE SMILE-
Daniel’s head was turning red in his effort to turn up the volume. He rather looked like he was holding onto some flatulence. It was that thought- about the flatulence- and not Daniel’s continued effort to be endearing, that had Armand suddenly shaking with laughter, he would later maintain. He tried to hold it all in, but he was afraid he rather failed at that.
“Was that a snort!?” Daniel exclaimed. “I cannot believe the Vampire Armand does something so undignified as snort! And all for lil’ old me?”
Armand did not dignify the first question with an answer. The second, however, needed a more serious rebuttal. “You are neither old, nor little, and I would not have you worried abou-”
“Nah, we all know you are the cradle robber in this relationship.” Daniel retorted. “And you certainly did not think I was little last night!”
Armand was relieved, his lover had simply meant in in jest. Daniel continued. “But it’s sweet. That you wanted to, you know, reassure me. I would even say that it’s..” a dramatic pause. Armand resigned himself. “I would-” Daniel tried to keep a straight face, failing miserably. “I would- would. I would even say it’s, it is. Hah! It’s pretty.. It’s pretty-”
“Might ‘cute’ be the word you’re looking for, beloved?” Armand sighed as Daniel howled with laughter, wiping tears of joy from his eyes. His happiness was contagious, Armand allowed himself to bask in this moment. If a little giggle passed his lips every now and then, only he and the stars would ever know. He is laughing! He’s actually laughing. And Daniel, of course.
🌸
Armand was violently thrown back into the present, with his hand still wrapped around the core. He realised he could not lose those feelings. They had been real. He had been happy. Even if the love was not returned, even if he were to die from this, he could not let them go. With no small amount of dread, he stopped his assault and let himself be consumed.
He was strong for a vampire. The first time he killed a vampire in Santino’s crypt, the first time he walked into the sun and did not burn, the fear of his own coven, these things told him that. But no one ever talks about the downside of being strong. About how he endured as the plants took him over. How he remained conscious as the thorns burrowed in his veins. How he saw the vines coming out of his nails, popping them off one by one. How they writhed under his skin, ripping it open and blooming wherever he bled. How he felt the branches crawling up, inching closer to his eyes. Seeing them wiggle around before his sight went dark.
He did not know how long it took. How long he was in agony, trapped inside a body that would not die, that was being consumed alive and conscious. A spider paralysed by a wasp as its larvae devoured him. He must have screamed at some point. His throat was hoarse. Or was it hoarse because of the flowering limbs choking him? Time lost its meaning. There was only suffering. This was the price to pay for his love. This was his comeuppance.
A door squeaked open. Someone stepped on a creaky floorboard. “God, it smells like someone died in here.”
He had. He died.
A squishy sound. Gagging. “You’re stepping in him.”
A French accent. “He is upstairs. Follow me.”
“Easy for you to say, Les. You are floating. Daniel and I have to wade through human body and maggots.”
“C’est la vie.”
“C’est la vie my ass, Frenchie. You can lift us, you know. Or me, at least.” Daniel called.
Their voices were getting closer. A gasp, a cry. “Jesus Christ, Armand!”
“Is he alive? Fuck. We shouldn’t have waited for so long. Get closer!” Louis.
“Closer? Mon cher, there is a literal forest blocking our way.” Lestat sounded somewhat hysteric.
“That’s not how you use the word literal. This is an overgrown bush at best. A figurative forest.” Again, that smart-ass tone of his fledgeling.
The sound of an open flame. Smoke and coughing. Hands on his body. Blood dripping from stray thorns. Someone kneeling next to his side. Louis’s drawl. “He looks pitiful. Even now I cannot help but think that this is the perfect set up, and he the perfect victim. Going out of his way to contract this disease just to get us here. And like fools, we’ve come running.”
“Like pox parties.” Daniel said. “Casting Armand in the role of both the suburban mom and the child.”
They were going to leave him. They thought he had done this to himself. They were here to gloat and then they were going to leave him.
“And you would deserve it too, Armand.” Louis said cruelly. Could he hear his thoughts?
“Yes I can.” Louis sneered “No impulse left unshared. Very unlike our own relationship.”
The plant inside him stirred. It lengthened and grew. He heard the others stumbling backwards. “Fuck, Louis, you’re rejecting him. It’s making it worse!”
“What an astute observation, Daniel!” Louis scoffed. “And I am not, for the record. Though I think I deserve to hold some anger towards the murderer of my daughter.”
“Our daughter.” Lestat said. “But we have agreed to let the past lie for now. Let us not now answer cruelty with more cruelty. You can leave if you wish, Louis.”
“Who’s said anything about leaving? I ain’t leaving him in your hands, that’s for sure. Not after the little concealing of history, you’ve both done.”
“We thought it was for the best if-” Daniel started to defend.
“Bull-fucking-shit.” Louis exclaimed. “You kept Marius’ fate hidden from Armand because you wanted some petty revenge for your turning. And you- honestly, I don’t even know why you never said a word to him. I am not leaving him with you two. He deserved the truth.”
Suddenly, Armand was hauled up and out of the tangle of vines he had been trapped in. He moaned as the branches were ripped out of him. He was held securely to a broad chest, the familiar heartbeat of Lestat soothing him. “Let us go. Morning is coming and I would be secure in our coffins before the sun rises to greet us. I’d rather not spend another second in this horrible apartment.”
He closed his eyes and slept.
[1] Catullus, Carmen 5, translated by Rudy Negenborn (http://rudy.negenborn.net/catullus/text2/e5.htm). I can recommend some of his poems if you are interested in rowdy Roman poems.
[2] From the first page of Justine ou Les malheurs de la vertu. It was published in 1791 which fits well enough in the timeline in my eye.