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Okay, so the thing was, Daniel had developed a kind of comfortable routine with Armand.
That's not to say it wasn't pissing him the fuck off, but he had forever now, apparently, to deal with Armand's bullshit and figure out where to go from here, so he could afford some more cat and mouse games. And anyway, as infuriating as it was, it was also... fun. He could admit that. Begrudgingly. To himself and no one else.
Anyway, the routine is essentially this: Daniel does something to provoke Armand, usually loudly and publicly, and Armand shows up in the middle of the night and fucks him about it.
It's like a cat and mouse game if the cat had somehow turned the mouse into another cat and then fucked it and then fucked off. Which is. an unsettling metaphor that Daniel will not be thinking about again. Anyway.
The first time, he'd fought it every step of the way, if only in the sense that he was spitting insults and telling Armand to fuck off even as he kissed back. In his defense, he'd been minding his own business when Armand had practically materialized out of the shadows and hissed are you out of your MIND and then tackled him into the sofa and kissed him.
Daniel had, naturally, responded by kissing back, and then biting him as hard as he could. This did not deter Armand in the slightest, because of course it didn't.
By the end of it, not only had both of them been bitten multiple times, blood and all, but Daniel had somehow found himself pinned on his stomach, legs pinned apart, drooling into the pillow shoved under him as Armand's cock pumped roughly in and out of his cunt.
Armand was practically growling and hissing and spitting into his hair, hand at the base of his throat, words an odd mix of angry insults and lavishing praise. Out of control, not holding back, fisting Daniel's hair and squeezing his throat and biting his flesh. All while giving Daniel what was possibly the best fuck of his life.
Or at least, in a very long time.
When it was over, Armand had roughly pulled out, releasing his grip, and Daniel had been left limp and loose-limbed, cunt stinging and dripping, bruises on his hips and throat, blood smeared on his skin, and his expression embarrassingly fucked-out. He didn't even want to think about the even more embarrassing noises he'd been making once Armand had wrangled him into submission--trapped under Armand, whimpering and mewling like he was still a twenty-something whore who hadn't, despite his best and enthusiastic efforts, quite gotten used to taking a good pounding yet.
And as he'd lay there, panting, recovering, gathering his fuzzy thoughts together into some semblance of a working brain even as the bloody cum dripping from his pussy threatened to distract him and make said thoughts fly apart, he'd managed to roll himself over to look at Armand properly. Ready to talk, to argue, to push.
Only the fucker was gone.
"You motherfucker," Daniel said, hoping Armand could still hear, and then he'd lay there a little longer, going limp to just stare at the ceiling. Lying there, covered in blood, fucked-open pussy leaking cum.
He'd made the vampire Armand lose control. Enough to actually show up, even if they only got a little arguing done between all the vicious kissing and biting and groping before Armand had shoved inside him and shut him up.
Daniel liked making Armand lose control. Liked pushing his buttons, liked pulling the truth out of him, liked being a little shit. Liked getting a reaction.
But he, apparently, also still liked getting put in his place. So. That was a fun thing to learn about himself at this age. Or re-learn. Consciously.
The natural response to this entire situation, of course--the situation being "Armand showing up, pissed as hell, fucking his brains out, and then leaving before Daniel can make him actually face his goddamn problems"--is to piss Armand off again.
(He hasn't been kissed in... years. Let alone fucked.)
It's actually surprisingly easy. Or maybe getting Armand's attention isn't hard because Armand's a creepy little stalker. Or maybe both. Whatever the case, he still manages to surprise Daniel--by waiting a few days to actually strike--but one second Daniel's feeling a rather smug, victorious sort of feeling, because Armand showed up, Armand's here and Daniel's going to make him talk, goddamnit, and the next thing he knows he's bent over in a way he absolutely could not have taken if he were still mortal, gasping and moaning as he's railed into oblivion by his spiteful, angry sire.
That's about how it keeps going. Daniel does something loud and stupid, or occasionally quiet and especially stupid, or something actually quite clever but deeply infuriating, and Armand basically drops out of nowhere and tackles him into the nearest surface. Bending him over, slamming him against a wall hard enough to crack it, shoving his face into the mattress, forcing his legs open on the couch; telling him how he's beautiful and infuriating and foolish and fascinating.
This might get him killed--er, double-killed? It's still 'killed' if you're a vampire, isn't it?--but Daniel's kind of stopped caring. And anyway, he's about ninety percent sure Armand wouldn't actually seriously hurt him. At least, not in a permanent way. He actually manages to slip a spare key into Armand's pocket once, just to be cheeky. And maybe, just maybe, though he'd never admit it, make some silent point of you are welcome here, you perfect, ruinous dipshit.
So that's how it goes: having angry, biting sex that inevitably turns into Armand managing to completely ruin him which in turn inevitably leaves Daniel fucked-dumb and leaking a fresh load, and Armand gone.
In retrospect, getting creampied semi-regularly by his insane vampire stalker/ex-boyfriend/maker/god-knows-what may have been... slightly irresponsible. In Daniel's defense, in what fucking world would condoms be on his list of priorities at the moment.
Sometimes, when Armand is fucking him, one of them will let something slip.
"I don't regret it," pants Armand into the space between his shoulder blades, when Daniel is too incoherent to do anything but whine. He thinks about those four words for months afterwards.
"Boss, don't leave," Daniel begs when Armand pulls out of him and leaves him on his back, unbruised and largely unbloodied, having fucked him shockingly gently.
"Want to keep you," Armand tells him, their mouths nearly brushing, blood slick on their lips, as Daniel reaches to take his cock in hand and stroke him.
"Love you, I love you, fuck, I love you," babbles Daniel, back arching and legs spread as Armand sinks teeth into his thigh and licks over the wound, licks over his slick, swollen folds, licks over his throbbing little cock. He says it again, weeks later, when Armand is balls deep inside him; and again, when Armand flips him over in his stomach and grabs his ass; and again, when he pulls Armand down into a kiss and Armand lets him.
Armand doesn't say it back. Daniel's pathetic like that.
He tells himself he doesn't need to hear it. And even if he did, he probably doesn't deserve to. Not in a bleak, self-pitying way. Just sort of matter-of-fact.
The nausea is new and a little alarming. Daniel is pretty sure he isn't supposed to get nauseous unless he does something to make that happen, which, as far as he knows, he hasn't. Which makes him wonder--with some dark humor--if it was something he ate.
Still, it's not like he's an invalid. He's fine. He's so fine. And the next time Armand fucks him, he makes absolutely zero attempt to bring it up, even when for a moment, as Armand flips him on his stomach, he feels dizzy.
He idly mentions it to Louis--they are in contact, odd friendship intact--and Louis seems puzzled but not overly concerned. He's more concerned with the whole Armand thing, which is fair. Weirdly, he's not really that upset about Daniel fucking his ex-husband, although he has in no way shape or form forgiven Armand, he's just more in the business of pointing out that what Daniel is doing is exceedingly stupid. Which Daniel is aware of. As if what Louis is doing (or rather who, read: Lestat) wasn't also exceedingly stupid. Peas in a fucked up pod, the two of them. Two bitchy queens.
So Daniel dismisses it, generally, and keeps going with his life. And then he's sitting, alone on his couch, and he slips a hand under his shirt and rubs a palm over his bare stomach, feeling annoyingly queasy. Still.
Only to--pause.
Because. His stomach. that was.
that was a bump.
A very small bump, really more of the slightest swell, a slight firm roundness, but unmistakably there.
No. That... that could not be right. He was definitely too old for this. And too dead for this, for that matter. What the fuck. What the fuck.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," says Daniel, out loud, to no one in particular.
About two minutes later, somewhere across the world, Louis de Pointe du Lac suddenly hears the definitely-not-suppressing-panic-totally-normal-what-do-you-MEAN voice of his old friend Daniel Molloy blare LOUIS CAN VAMPIRES GET PREGNANT AND IF SO WHY DID NOBODY FUCKING TELL ME.
He does not stop laughing for a good three minutes.
Yeah. Yeah, that's fair.
Okay. Okay! So. This is fine. Daniel is. fucking pregnant, apparently. With Armand's baby. Because who else.
And the thing is, this is--kind of awful, actually, but also kind of thrilling, and Daniel's feeling all sorts of ways about it.
Logical brain: Daniel is not a good father. Armand would definitely not be a good father. Even Louis, one of the better people Daniel knows and is still friends with, was definitely not a good father. This can only end in disaster.
Armand doesn't even know. How on earth does Daniel even tell him that? Hey, remember all those times I intentionally got you mad so you'd come over and fuck me about it? Well, congratulations, you knocked me up. Welcome to the baby trap. Are you ready to talk about our incredibly fucked up relationship yet? Let's get married. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Emotional brain: Daniel knows that this is terrible and he should probably resolve this as soon as possible. Preferably without even telling Armand. But some ridiculous, silly little part of him was pleased. There was this warm, tingly feeling he couldn't quite get rid of entirely.
Daniel wasn't and isn't a good father to the children he already has, but he loves them nonetheless. He does love them, genuinely. That's part of the reason he keeps his distance: before, because he believed he was poison, and now, because he inarguably is. Too selfish to cut off contact for real, forever trapping them all in a limbo of his own making.
So part of him--this baby isn't a baby yet, not really. But the idea is somewhat gripping: a little piece of him and Armand, of their fucked up but oh-so-real love, growing inside him. A child, a child that might have Armand's curls or lips or--eyes? Oh, hey, there's another thought, is the child going to be born a vampire? Something in between? Is that a fucking thing? Jesus christ.
Horny brain: Daniel knows real pregnancy is not sexy. He knows this intimately. This does not stop his cunt from throbbing at the idea of Armand impregnating him what the fuck.
"You're a horny, miserable bastard," he tells the mirror. The mirror, unimpressed, seems to agree.
It's not like Daniel can actually keep it from Armand forever. He is not going out like this--he'd panicked, delayed making a choice, delayed making a serious effort to force Armand to listen to him about this, delayed everything, and now it felt like it was too late and he was kind of attached and also showing, so. Armand Jr was here to stay.
Not that Daniel was calling them that. It had started as a stupid, bitter joke to himself. But he had to call them something, and some ridiculous, sentimental part of him didn't want to choose a name without Armand--even as a spiteful part of him did--and so somewhat sardonically referring to the bump as "Junior" had become a habit.
It was a little affectionate, too. Despite himself.
Even though he's stopped doing his little stunts, he knows it's likely a matter of time before Armand shows up anyway, if only to see why he's broken the pattern. Armand can't stay away. He just can't stay, either.
Anyway, that doesn't mean he's prepared when Armand actually does show up. In fact, when Armand sits there and stares at him with bright, furious eyes from the other side of the room that Daniel had just walked into, a sarcastic comment is on the tip of Daniel's tongue--damned if you do, damned if you don't, do you want him to do ridiculous things to get your attention or not--when he remembers that he is. uh. visibly pregnant.
I mean, he's not huge or anything. But a definite, real, visible curve is there.
"....shit," says Daniel. "Uh."
"Daniel," says Armand, voice deadly-soft, expression calm as the eye of a storm. "Beautiful boy. Infuriating, ridiculous boy."
Daniel doesn't even have the brainspace to be annoyed at being called a boy again. Too caught.
"...yes?"
Armand inhales sharply through his nose for a moment, and then says, "Daniel, what the fuck."
It takes Daniel so off-guard he snorts hard enough to hurt. Had he still been mortal and able to drink, it would have been a truly marvelous spit-take.
"Have you been on the Internet or something," he wheezes.
"I'm not a child, Daniel," says Armand. "I know how language works. Speaking of children."
"Oh, yeah, nice segue," says Daniel. "Oh, and--are we talking now? Is that something we're doing? You're not going to throw me against the nearest wall and knock me up and then fuck off?"
"You can't impregnate someone who is already pregnant," says Armand stiffly, mulishly, and it'd be funny, his petulant pedantry, if not for how Daniel can't help but be distracted with the way Armand can't seem to tear his eyes from Daniel's belly.
"It is yours, in case you're wondering," says Daniel, dry as the desert to cover up the way his throat feels tight. "Fucking deadbeat."
Armand gives him a sharp look. "Coming from you, that's particularly cutting," he says, snide, and then seems to regret it almost immediately.
But Daniel just gives a bitter smile. "Yeah, glass houses," he says. "Whatever. Can we actually talk now? Is getting me actually fucking pregnant enough? Or do you want to fuck instead?"
Armand narrows his eyes, tipping his head slightly as if considering the idea that Daniel somehow deliberately orchestrated him getting Daniel pregnant in an attempt to force him to have a single conversation. Which was insane, and, Daniel might add, something that sounded more out of Armand's playbook than Daniel's.
Daniel has the sudden, vivid image of Armand baby-trapping Louis, and then remembers Louis kind of baby-trapped Lestat, actually, or maybe the other way around depending on how you looked at it, and then decides he needs to stop thinking about this forever.
"Lover," says Armand, almost a purr as he steps closer, graceful and effortless. "Does it have to be instead?"
It takes a second for Daniel's brain to catch up.
"You really want to delay this conversation more?" Daniel demands, but when Armand kisses him, he kisses back anyway, hand finding Armand's face.
One of Armand's hands palms the curve of his belly, lingering over where his shirt was stretched tight over it, and Armand's fangs nick his lip in a way that feels deliberate, making blood well up, and Armand rips off his shirt and one thing leads to another, because Daniel really is too weak to resist.
Armand slides into his poor, sensitive cunt, filling him up, but he moves infuriatingly slow, as if Daniel is suddenly fucking fragile, and Armand makes him come like that twice, tortuously drawn out and on his cock, hands on the curve of his belly.
"Mm," says Armand, arms slung over Daniel's shoulders, around his neck. He was leaning in, Daniel's baby bump--christ, how was this real--pressed to his stomach. Still inside him. Fuck. "A novelty way to get me to stay longer, I'll admit."
"It's not like I planned this," Daniel snaps, but it comes out softer, more a worn-out and pleasantly exhausted exhale than a sharp bark.
"You look--alluring," Armand admits. "I hadn't thought I'd see the appeal. But you wear it well."
"What, pregnancy?"
"Yes, Daniel, pregnancy. Why, you're glowing."
"Fuck off. If you make a Twilight joke, I'm divorcing you."
Armand blinks at him. "I wasn't aware we were married," he says. Daniel isn't actually sure if he understood the Twilight reference, but hopes for the sake of his own sanity that he didn't. And also so that he can perhaps, at some point, force him to watch those movies for his own entertainment.
"I'll marry you and then divorce you," says Daniel. "And then marry you again, probably, because I'm a fucking sucker."
Armand opens his mouth.
"Don't."
Armand closes his mouth.
It's unclear if it was going to be a vampire joke, a blowjob joke, or some combination of both, but it definitely would have been tasteless, and Daniel knows because he'd immediately thought of several possibilities himself.
"Do it for the children, Danny," deadpans Armand, instead of initiating another goddamn divorce. In retrospect, if one can call it retrospect not two seconds after the fact, divorce jokes had been a bad idea. Luckily Armand doesn't seem inclined to rip his throat out or shove him into a sunrise at the moment, so Daniel's gonna go ahead and call that a win.
When Daniel doesn't respond right away, Armand kisses him. Just briefly. Then says, quietly, "I was being truthful."
"About what?" says Daniel, eyebrows raising, automatically skeptical of this assertion.
"It suits you," says Armand, softly, too softly. Too soft for the kind of monster he is--the kind of monsters they are.
"Yeah, well," says Daniel. "It's probably gonna get ugly, so enjoy the illusion while it lasts."
Armand doesn't look perturbed. If anything, his eyes gleam brighter with interest. Excitement.
Actually, that kind of tracks, doesn't it. Armand's a little freak. All vampires kind of are, aren't they?
Unfortunately, Daniel loves it.
So some difficult conversations are had, and avoided and then had, and finally, finally, Daniel starts getting Armand to actually stick around. It might partially be just because he's apparently very, very anxious about the safety of Daniel and the baby, but it's still nice, to feel like he's actually getting somewhere. He'd thought that he would have to be a lot more stubborn for a lot longer.
They also have a truly concerning amount of sex. And Daniel had not gotten so into the whole pregnancy thing before, but something about filthy words in his ear, Armand's voice telling him how good he looked like this, Armand's hands on his round belly--yeah, that was apparently doing it for both of them. So that was interesting.
Life goes on, slowly. He gets bigger (ugh), Armand gets more obsessive (yes), and he sticks to carefully framed Zoom interviews, sporadic planning for his next book, and extremely occasional calls to his daughters, who seem to be quietly confused and baffled about his behavior.
Daniel is finally settling into this new rhythm, a not-quite-defined-but-solid thing with Armand, when the universe cheerfully decides to have all of this finally bite him on the ass. And not in the fun way.
There's a loud knock on the door, and it's late enough Daniel is awake, but only barely.
The door rattles and swings open before he can even get up to answer it, and he hears them before he sees them.
"Shit," he hisses, and Armand just looks at him, amused, as his daughters walk into the room.
"Dad," says Nora, "I swear to god, you've been evasive as hell, and we are worried about you."
She hasn't looked up yet, too busy gesticulating wildly. Catherine, on the other hand, is staring at him with huge eyes.
"First you're acting insane and getting--fucking--acrylics and contacts and the interviews and the vampire erotica, which I tried to be nonjudgemental about, okay--"
"Nora," says Catherine faintly.
"And good for you! Really! But first you were acting insane in public and then suddenly you refuse to leave the house--"
"Nora," says Catherine.
"And you barely answer the phone unless I call late--"
"NORA OUR FATHER IS PREGNANT," says Catherine.
"I--what," says Nora, and then she looks up, actually gives a little shriek of surprise, and promptly drops her purse, hands over her mouth.
Daniel, pregnant and also on the couch with his maker/fiancé(???)/murderer/stalker/lover/baby daddy, stares back flatly. Armand is radiating quiet, smug amusement. Fucker. Joke's on him, this is going to be miserable for everyone.
"Dadwhyareyoupregnant."
"Well, when a boy and a boy love each other very much--" says Daniel sarcastically, because he's an asshole, and then he cuts himself off as he sees the looks on their faces. "Look, it's obviously a recent development--"
"Not that recent," says Catherine, "Clearly. Also: who the fuck is that twink."
Twink? Armand mouths to himself and Daniel wants to walk into the ocean.
Catherine gets her blunt crassness from her father.
"Dad, did you let a guy half our age--" Nora's voice stutters off, and Catherine cuts in with "--knock you up?!"
"No," says the twink on their father's couch. "I am not half your age."
"Not helping," says Daniel to the side. He turns back to them. "But he is older than he looks."
The twink stares at them with bright orange eyes. Apparently also wearing contacts. This is great.
"Oh, I'm sure," says Catherine.
"I can't believe this is happening," says Nora.
Her geriatric deadbeat father, a respected and award-winning journalist who was dying of Parkinson's a few months ago, is now apparently perfectly healthy, content to wear pointed nails and eye contacts and leather jackets and sunglasses indoors, and also, you know, pregnant and cuddling with a rather unsettling twink. She hates this so much.
The unsettling twink in question wrinkles his nose at her, as if she'd said any of that out loud. Which she hadn't.
"Did you two meet while LARPing or something?" says Catherine.
"What," says Daniel. The twink glances at him. He sighs. "Live action roleplaying," he says.
The twink's eyebrows raise.
"Not like that," says Daniel. "I--Look, I'll explain later. Why are you two here again?"
"Well, this was going to be an intervention of sorts," says Catherine. "But I've now got other questions."
"We met while Daniel was interviewing my husband," says the twink with an angelic smile that screams I am doing this on purpose.
"Dad, did you homewreck this kid's marriage," says Nora flatly.
"Not a kid," says Daniel, pointed.
"He did," confirms the twink gleefully.
"ANYWAY," says Daniel, sensing dangerous territory as his daughters exclaim oh my god and jesus christ respectively. "I'm fine, perfectly healthy, everything's great, no intervention needed."
"Nothing about this is fine," says Catherine.
"Why not?" says Daniel. "I'm doing great, health-wise. I'm in a--" he makes a slightly odd face but doesn't hesitate for longer than a split second before continuing, "good relationship, my job is going well... I'd say everything is fine."
Everything is a goddamn mess and he knows it, but he's happy, so.
Nora and Catherine exchange looks. There are many holes to poke here: how on earth is he doing so well? Won't a pregnancy come with complications? It didn't seem like he was using again, like they'd assumed, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Even if there are no complications, having a new sibling at this age seems a little insane, especially considering--well. who their dad is and what kind of dad he is. And also, you know, the baby daddy being half their age and yet somehow recently divorced. Nothing about this made sense.
It's concerning. On multiple levels.
(They both love him, but he isn't a good father. And a baby? Now? With this kid? Someone was going to get hurt, and it being a kid, an infant... was there even anything that could be done? It'd almost be easier if he were abusive, instead of just an asshole. Instead of a deadbeat. Instead of selfish and traumatized and loving and neglectful. Instead of complicated. And they'd had their moms. They'd had...)
(Was this kid a gold-digger? Desperate? Kinky? Did he really love their father? Was their father really playing dirty old man? Was he actually "older than he looked", and did that mean in his thirties at best?)
"I'm fine," repeats Daniel, an almost hollow echo. There's an odd look on his companion's face.
Would it be rude to ask how he was healthy, Nora wondered. It was the sort of thing that tended to get worse, not better.
"I am fine. There were some experimental treatments," says Daniel, "Ones Armand helped me get. I'm fine. The--the pregnancy was obviously not planned--"
"Gross," says Catherine, briefly confronted with her elderly father's sex life for not the first time in the past few months, but she says nothing more.
"--but I'm happy."
The twink--apparently Armand?--shifts, regarding them both with a sort of deerlike head tilt. He is pressed close to their father on the couch, even with his perfect posture.
Catherine sighs. Both sisters stare at their father consideringly.
"Are you really?" says Nora quietly. It's not hope but resigned disbelief in her tone. "Or is this just another--thing?"
Daniel--their father--leans forward, alien eyes glinting a little. His voice is surer than she's heard it in a long time.
"Let's just say this is a long time coming," he says. And then, glancing at Armand, those new eyes oddly soft, "I'm sure."
(Does he love this Armand more than them? Does it matter?)
"I should probably fake my death, soon," says Daniel hollowly. "Or something." They are curled up together in a large coffin--one Armand had had made for them, and for them alone--and Daniel doesn't look at him. Just up, just at nothing.
"I know you avoided seeing them in person for a reason," says Armand. Almost gentle. Kid gloves. God. And Daniel does feel horribly, awfully fragile. He hates the feeling.
"Too curious for my own damn good," says Daniel.
He'd known he isn't a good father and never has been. And he knows, intimately, that listening to the thoughts in someone's head isn't fair. It's not what they mean, most of the time. How many times had Armand plucked a thought from his head that he hadn't meant, all those years ago, that he didn't say but was used against him, or taken as if he'd said it out loud? He knew it wasn't fair.
Doesn't mean it didn't sting and taste like bile.
"It'd be for the best, anyway," Daniel says. He isn't sure he means it. Or--no. He knows it's the right thing to do. That dead things should stay dead, not linger in their lives. He just isn't sure he wants to despite that.
He wonders if he should leave them the baby. Dying in childbirth would be realistic. He could hold her, just once. A third daughter. No sons.
It would be unbelievably selfish, leaving them with another kid, their own sister. But she'd be safer. And, well. he and Armand wouldn't exactly be stellar parents, would they? Daniel already knows he isn't. As vampires, it'd be worse.
And the child wouldn't be like them. Not unless they made her. It's no lifestyle for a child.
It'd be so incredibly selfish. But he's always been a selfish father. Why stop now?
It's just, despite it all--he wants to keep her. It's impractical, it's stupid, it's naive. It'd be difficult and disgusting and disastrous. But part of him wants it anyway. Armand's daughter.
But he's old enough to know better. Maybe holding her once would be enough.
He turns his head, face pressing to Armand's shoulder. Armand gives a soft sigh.
Daniel wonders if he regrets it. Any of it. He wonders if Armand would let her go, for her own good. Or if he cares at all, beyond some ephemeral idea of being his.
As he drifts into sleep, eyes heavy, he hears Armand whisper:
I love you, my beautiful boy. I love you, little flower.