Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing about playing a great character in a great show full of great people who do a great job in everything they try their hands on is that, Assad being Assad, he gets too emotionally invested.

He’s not the only one, he’s sure. He held Luke when he broke down on set for that same reason, he thinks. Allowing yourself to fully embrace your character, their troubles, their emotions, their whole sense of self , until you start having a hard time distancing yourself from them. 

Assad is having a really hard time distancing himself from Armand. He isn’t incapable of doing so; it’s not like he can’t… It’s that he doesn’t want to. He spent a long time this season being in Armand’s skin and feeling so much sadness, longing and fear in his stead, that he found comfort in it.

In the afterparty of filming season two, while the entire crew and cast reunites, celebrates and shares a few drinks over their favorite and least favorite parts of shooting, Assad finds it hard to not isolate like Armand would. He can’t imagine himself yet just trying to get rid of the habits he picked up from shooting, from being in Armand’s brain and skin. He keeps catching himself thinking “What would Armand do?” — or, actually, that’s not what he thinks, because he doesn’t think, he just does. It comes in the form of muscle memory whenever he moves. Makes itself known in his accent if he’s too tense. A friend from out of the business told him one of these days that he had an uneasy vibe around him lately, with silences and stares. Assad never had an uneasy vibe. 

It comes so, so easy to him, now. So he stays in the corners of the room, hidden by the shadows along with the rest of the most introverted ones of the crew. Observing, minus the scary eyes. He runs his sight through every detail in the decoration, every crumpled piece of fabric on those that had been dancing, listens in to every sound and tries to separate every voice from the cacophony. 

He manages to single out his name in a conversation,  just close enough to him so the sound is not overwritten by the music and clicking of glasses. 

“If you get too bothered by the stickiness of the blood you’ll have a really hard time playing the sex scenes with Assad next season.”

“But who says I’m the one out of the two of us who’ll shoot those scenes with him?”

Assad had recognized his name on Luke’s voice, and that is Eric replying.

“Some of it will definitely be in the present,” Luke explains his reasoning slowly, invested. “Think about it, he turned us and fled. God knows how long Rolin will make us stay away from him. When we return and the —" He pauses for emphasis, mirth on his voice. “— vampire bond seizes our heart, just think about how much sexual tension there’ll be.”

Assad can’t help a small smile from spreading on his face, from the excitement in Luke’s words. How he includes both versions of Daniel in his speech. “We, us, our”. He feels himself inching closer to their voices, now just two talking heads away from their space. Perhaps they can see his curls behind the sound engineers between them, eavesdropping like a creep. Like Armand would.

“Right,” Eric says, thinking it over. “But we hate him.” He stops for a second, analyzing. Thinking about Daniel’s story so far, or maybe putting himself in Daniel’s position, feeling his character and what he thinks about Armand, what he needs from his maker. “Okay, perhaps not only hate. But there’s definitely hate there.”

“Of course there is!” Luke exclaims excitedly. “We were tortured , threatened, played with. Armand's been feeling for days, somewhere inside his deceptive little brain, that we’re about to fuck something up. Since we arrived in Dubai we’ve been relentlessly bugging the fuck out of him, even when we thought he was Rashid.” Assad chuckles very quietly to himself as he shifts in a way that he can see them, can see Luke, leaning into a counter behind him, reaches giddily for Eric's shoulders to hold onto them as he babbles. “And now we've gone and made him really mad. We are going to have the best passionately aggressive hate sex ever! ”

Assad chooses to intervene then, stepping into their view. “The way you’re talking, everyone within an earshot is going to think you two are hooking up.”

Eric greets him with a snort, and Luke laughs high and drunk, but Assad sees Luke’s cheeks warming up and Eric taking a step back, self conscious as Luke's arms fall back down, and he feels his own head tilting just a little from muscle memory - what he’s supposed to do when something is fascinating. When he catches light at just the right angle to realize something new.

“So what,” Luke flutters his eyelids at Eric, playful, “not like I would mind someone more experienced, myself.”

Eric chuckles then, shaking his head with a big smile on his lips. “Kid, I’m too old for this,” he detours, but it’s weak. Both Assad and Luke pick up on it, looking at each other squinting and smirking mischievously. 

“Oh?” Assad holds Eric’s hand and brings it close to his own face, still holding a little bit of laughter. “Too old for what, fucking?” He leaves a kiss on its back, wet, looking directly into Eric’s eyes. “What happened to mister ‘my libido has never gone to sleep’?” He smiles brightly at Eric, who looks at him in a way, and Assad can’t say what exactly was that, but he feels a thrill from it in the span of five seconds that Eric takes to react.

He snatches his hand back and Assad thinks, oh. Too far.   His smile falls from his face.

But Eric takes hold of the back of Assad and Luke’s heads, brings them closer to each other, closer to Eric himself, and says, first looking at Assad: 

“Too old for playful flirting,” turns to Luke, smiles. “I prefer to get down to it without a preamble.”

His smile gets even bigger as he slightly squeezes where he’s holding them right before letting go, turning around and striking up conversation with the first person on his way. Like that didn’t just happen. 

They watch in unison as Eric just goes, and then Luke speaks, “What do you think?”

His face, Assad realizes when he turns to him, is still slightly red. He’s looking at Assad with a small smile, like he’s thinking of something sweet.

“About what?”

“Armand and Daniel. What I was talking to Eric about before… before.” He shrugs, looks down. Looks back up, redder. “You know. You and us.”

One corner of Assad's mouth lifts up, amused. “Armand and Daniel are definitely happening in both timelines.” Reaches behind Luke so he can lean on the counter from elbow to wrist. In this position and angle Luke seems taller than him, and with how they're close, Assad has to look up a little. His hand on the counter slips, the tips of his fingers touch the small of Luke's back. “Me and the both of you? Would require more straightforwardness than this.” 

Luke smiles, slow and certain at him, cheeks not having a break from feeling warm. 

“Come to the balcony with me,” he moves, taking Assad's hand and pulling. “I want to have a smoke. And then you can tell me how you think our scenes will play out.”

They move without hurry, not passing by many people because they're close to their destiny, and they greet everyone on the way like they aren't about to do... something that seems slightly unprofessional if Assad squints. Not that he cares, watching Luke's body from behind as they walk.

He's relieved when he sees that the balcony is empty, because when Luke sits with his legs spread on the not very tall blocky rail - cement, doesn’t look comfortable -, Assad goes to help him light his cigarette, settling his hips in between Luke's thighs, bringing his head close to his hands that are making a dome around the tip of the cigarette to block the wind.

“So. How are Armand and Daniel happening in both timelines?”

Luke, the fucker, blows smoke right on his face after his first drag.

“I think that it would be nice if we had a mix of flashbacks and present time when Daniel and Armand finally get to it,” Assad starts, pointedly swatting at the smoke with his hand, almost hitting Luke's jaw with it. It gives Luke a sense of losing balance as he flings himself back a little, and so he instinctively wraps his arm that's not holding the cigarette around Assad's waist, not so instinctively pulling him close. Assad leans both his hands on the rail besides Luke's hips to help with their balance.

“What do you mean?” Luke whispers, and their faces are so close with Assad leaning like this, he can smell the champagne Luke was having before. He feels the fingertips on his waist dancing down to the middle of his lower back and up his spine, and shivers, leaning in even more to whisper back as he takes another drag of the cigarette.

“I mean that when he fucks me, his memories will come back little by little,” his cheek touches Luke's, and the hand on Assad's back runs to his waist, squeezes, pulls the fabric of his shirt. It's a nice shirt, bright pearly white, unbuttoned on the cleavage. The pulling reveals more skin from the shoulder on that same side, and Luke lets his head fall forward so his forehead rests on the base of Assad's neck as he pants, clearly affected by their bodies touching and Assad's voice so close to his ear. Assad feels the warmth of Luke's breath on his chest and continues. “He already knows they had a relationship by this point, so he's not surprised.”

He takes hold of the back of Luke's head much like he did to shoot the biting in San Francisco, but instead of tilting it to reach his skin, he pulls the hair, the deliciously smelling hair, so that it's Luke's mouth on his neck instead. “As he bites me, he remembers the taste of my blood from your bite.” Assad rolls his hips against Luke's crotch — pulling him close enough that Luke would fall forward from the rail if Assad wasn’t pinning him there with his body — as he feels Luke sucking a bite right under Assad's ear, relentless, making a bruise, and he can tell Luke's rock hard already. "Feels my mouth on him as something familiar, something he's used to, because you're used to it." Assad takes hold of Luke's jaw in his hand and pulls his face up so he can speak close to Luke's mouth, their lips brushing. “Feels how it felt to have me riding you on the Night Island under the beautiful lights of o—” 

He's interrupted by Luke's kiss, immediately bringing a bite on his lower lip, and as if they were pressed on time switching to suck on Assad's tongue, taste the roof of his mouth, leave him dizzy with how much want is in there as Luke kisses him like he wants to melt with him. 

Pressed on time is a way of saying it, indeed, because not even half a minute of kisses go by before they part with a smacky, wet sound, as the door opens behind Assad. He tries to move to see who it is, but Luke tightens his grip, now with both arms, cigarette probably thrown away burnt to its filter while Assad was lost in speech. He smiles big at whoever is behind Assad while they close the door, and rests his chin on Assad's shoulder to ask, “that for us?”

“Yes,” Eric replies, and now it’s Assad's face warming up. He's not very shy, just diffident around Eric because he looks up to him so much. And being this intimate with Luke right in front of him makes him feel on edge since he isn’t very sure about what Eric thinks of this thing the three of them have been hinting around, playing with for a while. They're both hard, catching their breath, and Eric is right there.

“Though if I knew you'd be starting without me I wouldn’t have brought shit,” he continues, and finally appears beside Assad, handing him a glass of champagne. Assad isn’t interested in the champagne, he’s computing that Eric, in unconscious reply to his concerns, just said he not only doesn’t mind but wants to be a part of this.

Heat floods him immediately from head to toe, a fire licking up at his spine and giving him goosebumps at the very notion that this might, in fact, happen. He accepts the glass and stares at Eric back. Then he feels more than he hears Luke laughing on his other side where he was resting his head before and now is languidly laying kisses in between words as he says, “you're just in time, then, because Assad seems to be cold.” Luke's hands slide down to his ass and Assad startles with a gasp as Luke squeezes hard, continuing his teasing: “And there’s an awfully empty space behind him for the wind to blow through.”

Assad watches as the glass meant for Luke on Eric's hand is left on the rail. His own champagne has been spilt more than a few drops with all the movement, and he's trying hard to not let the glass fall from the balcony. He turns to the view, panting, anticipating, his vision catching just at the corner when Eric shifts to press himself at Assad's back, his now both free hands reaching to Assad's shoulder. Assad feels Luke's smile at the same time his head ends up pushed forward by Eric who's trying to lift enough of his curls to lick a kiss on the nape of his neck. Assad whines, gripping hard on the rail, and feels the wind on his wet skin just as he hears it: Luke and Eric are kissing, with him in between them, their hands on his body. He feels insane.

“This is warm enough, I think, but,” Eric says after a few seconds of this torture, bites Assad's ear lightly. Luke kisses the corner of Assad's mouth, licks it open. Eric goes on, hand sliding between his and Assad's body so he swats away Luke's hand that seemed, to Assad, to be trying to grope Eric through his pants. “I really think we should take this somewhere else. I want less clothes between us and him and that isn’t advisable under all this wind.”

Assad parts the kiss, giggles breathlessly, leaves the glass on the rail and turns around in Luke's arms to meet Eric, wanting to tease him back.

Whatever he means to say, he forgets. Eric looks even older in the dark with only the moon and some sparsely placed outdoor lights from the salon rented for the party illuminating them, and Assad feels stupidly unworthy of this attention under Eric's heated gaze. But Eric smiles at him, and Assad always wondered how could his smile be so boyish at times. Luke massages his shoulder behind him, Eric points with his head to the door, pulling Assad with him as he steps back so Luke can come down, and he feels his worries melt away. They've all been wanting this for a while. The champagne glasses are left on the rail, one full and one still dripping from its spills.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t even look like they’re on their way to have a threesome in a hotel room at 9 pm on a friday. They talk about so many things in the cab — snacks they've been munching on for the whole season in between takes, what was their favorite scene to shoot (Eric's was the one where Daniel and Louis recover their memories of San Francisco together, Luke's was the one Louis lounges at him to show him he is a vampire — he looks apologetically at Assad and says it would have been the monologue for how intense it was, if only it wasn't so taxing physically — and Assad couldn’t choose his favorite, really, there were too many great takes), and they arrive laughing hard at something crude Eric says. No unease, no bashfulness. They’re having a good time. 

They decide to go to Assad’s room because he’s the most organized of the three of them. Which, figures. 

As they settle, Assad notices just how much Luke made himself fit the role of Daniel in a way that it was impossible not to connect him and Eric. They are definitely physically alike, especially their mouths, but that would be lost if there wasn’t a good research and a good dedication to the job behind it, because Eric is very much like old Daniel while Luke is nothing like the young version of the character.

It’s refreshing to see their dynamic, the way they interact with each other; thinking that there’s a universe out there where they’re the same person. Assad thinks it’s quite honestly very erotic that he’s there with them. Thinks of Armand right in the middle of his Daniels, being loved, touched, worshiped by them. He’s once again slipping into the shoes of his character, not meaning to but not rejecting it either. It must be funny to the others when he goes from a giggly theatre kid with bright eyes to a stoic, immobile, dark gazed grown man — if they even notice. Eric and Luke don’t seem to notice at the moment — Assad answers back when he’s talked to, so nothing’s really amiss. He’s sitting with his back straight and legs crossed on a corner chair while Eric’s sprawled in a loveseat and Luke is sitting on its armrest, saying something to Eric with big smiles and lots of expressions on his pretty face. Assad is not really listening, lost in his musings, but he knows it's something about shooting season three. Not yet along the lines of what he and Luke were talking about before, but getting there. He looks at Assad for confirmation of something he tells Eric and he nods, approving of whatever Luke says in that honeyed, low voice that is so different from his chosen way to voice Daniel. Luke double takes, lifts an eyebrow at Assad. 

“You're so far away. I was hoping you'd tell Eric what you told me earlier.”

Assad smiles knowingly, but doesn’t move. It's easier to play at seduction when he's Armand in front of his Daniels, rather than himself in front of his colleagues. He wants to bask in their desire for a little longer than he would if he were to just go and take them where they are.

“Am I? I was just enjoying the view of you two.” He sprawls out where he is, uncrossing his legs, rests his head on the back of the seat, spreads out as he lets his body slide to the edge of the cushion. He lowers his eyelids and smiles at Eric, taking in the hunger with which the man is gazing back. “I can tell you both how it will work, and we can go from there. What do you think?”

He eyes Luke, who swallows hard while staring at Assad, nods slowly and gets more comfortable where he is, leaning back. Eric’s arm sneaks behind his waist to hold him in place, and the two of them have their attention fixed on Assad, just like he wants.

“I am the vampire Armand and I have boiling blood,” he starts, hands on the armrests, body in full display. “A powerful bloodline that comes from a fountain that was spread over the world. My maker wasn’t covetous with it, his fledglings to my left and right as I remained human. I begged and begged to be given the gift, ignored like a petulant child until it was convenient to grant me my wish.

“I am the opposite of him. I vowed to never share the gift, because it is mine. I am possessive of it. I own it. I would not give it away on a whim, for convenience or because it was begged for. I love it as much as I hate it.”

Assad gets on his feet, moving fluidly, hands behind his back. Eric and Luke’s eyes follow him with rapture. He stares at Luke, who sucks in a breath immediately. Four slow steps and Assad is in front of him. He can see Eric’s arm tightening on Luke’s waist as Luke involuntarily leans forward, hypnotized. Assad leans down, touches the tips of his fingers to Luke’s chin.

“You became mine in 1973. You begged me for the gift, amongst other things. I longed to give you everything you wanted, my boy.” 

Assad lets his sight roam all over Luke’s face, taking in all of his features. His heavily lidded eyes leaking desire, his nose through which he is breathing harshly, his wide mouth slightly open in anticipation, his cheeks burning with heat. Assad slides his fingers down Luke’s neck as he speaks.

“Oh, how I drank from you. Took your vitality and so you drank from me and I gave you mine. But it was never enough for you, was it, my beloved? You wanted more than I could give…” He lets pain show on his face. The pain of not being enough. Why was he not enough? Why must Daniel want all of him, even what he vowed not to give? 

He lets go of Luke, straightens up and turns his back on them. His boys. His Daniels.

“My bloodline is strong, and yet I am a weak man.” He shakes his head, turns it just so they can see his profile. “No, not a man. I am the blood in me. And though I took many souls, none of them remained in my veins as you do; a parasite, running smoothly and red from my mouth to be digested in my stomach, invading the currents that run through my heart and seek their destiny in my brain, stealing the thoughts in my head to occupy it like a stubborn house visit that pretends not to notice to have overstayed their welcome.” 

He swirls around quickly then, startling them as he shoves his arm forward, taking Luke’s neck in his hand — not squeezing, but Luke takes the hint as Assad implies with a slight turn of his wrist that he wants Luke to rise as if Armand was holding Daniel by his neck. Because he is.

Luke rises, gasping like he’s actually choking. He might be choking from the way the scene is settling inside him, but they move together without breaking the play and Assad tilts his head almost imperceptibly, so that Luke knows Armand will throw Daniel on the bed. He suggests with his wrist and Luke flings himself back, groaning from the exertion. He looks scared and horny, leaning back on his elbows and crawling backwards —  just like Assad wants him.

Assad climbs over him like a hungry and deadly spider, speaking just loud enough that Eric can hear from over there. “You irritate me. You fascinate me. I want to pick you apart, dismember you and eat you alive, consume your flesh so I can understand exactly who you are.”

He bares his teeth at Luke and attacks his neck, sucking on the thin skin in the junction of neck and shoulder hard enough to mark and doesn’t miss the way Luke moans high in his chest and tries to grind his crotch against Assad’s thigh, painfully hard. Assad pins his hips down with one hand; it is not yet the time. He releases the flesh stuck between his teeth, groaning, and revels in the mark they left. He didn’t get to do this properly on set as he wanted, to properly sink his teeth into Luke’s neck and feel it warm on his tongue.

Luke, for a reason Assad can’t comprehend, hasn’t taken off his blazer yet. He’s wearing a white button down underneath it, and looks like he’s cooking up in there. Assad wants to undress him. He hints and tries to turn Luke around on his stomach, and struggles, because this time Luke is a little slow to understand what Assad wants him to do, affected as he is. But he manages eventually and Assad takes his blazer off on the way. He slides down and moves Luke to be, with his back to Assad, on his knees. Luke’s breath calms down in the meantime, but picks up again when Assad’s arms embrace him to unbutton his shirt. He leaves it open but doesn’t take it off before he shoves Luke back down, fisting his hair to turn Luke’s head on his side. In all of this maneuvering, Assad had turned them diagonally on the bed enough that Eric and Luke could look at each other as Assad pins him down, Luke’s arm stuck at his back in between them locked by Assad’s grip on his wrist, undoubtedly uncomfortable. Luke could wiggle out of this position at any time if he wanted. He didn’t.

Assad finally looks at Eric and almost falters. His older Daniel is palming at the front of his pants, chest moving rapidly with desperate breaths. Assad speaks with his lips brushing Luke’s ear and gaze locked with Eric’s in hurried murmurs that mimic the desperation felt by everyone present.

“I see you dying countless times in dreams and visions and sometimes right in front of me. I see you high and low, happy and sad and I see in you every emotion there is to be seen. I want you and you want me and you are mine and if I could take you for eternity, boy, I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t. I have to let you go.” He feels Luke humping the mattress underneath him and Assad rubs his face on Luke’s cheek, on his hair, gets a mouthful of it, smelling like heaven though sweaty, and Eric pants, squirms under Assad’s intense stare. 

In the next minute Assad undresses Luke completely, turns him around to marvel at his blissed, wet and red, beautiful face. His cock, wonderful like all of him, is leaking so much it makes Assad’s mouth water, but he assures himself there will be time for that later, when he’s more himself and less Armand. He pins Luke’s wrists next to his head on the bed, looks at him pointedly so he knows not to move them, and lets them go. Straightens up on his knees on the bed, towering over Luke, and looks at Eric.

“But then you come to me again.”

Eric, wonderful, incredible, smart like his Daniel, exactly like his Daniel, knows to come to Assad. He steps forward unsteadily, but when he arrives at the bed it’s like there’s a stage wire pulling him to Assad, a man entirely silver made of neodymium magnet; impossible to be forced back. 

He embraces Assad from behind exactly how he’d done to Luke minutes ago. His touch is strong, almost robbing Assad of his balance, as he puts both hands on Assad’s chest and pushes, pulls, squeezes, here, there, everywhere, forcing his shirt open, scratching at the coarse hairs around his nipples, on his belly. Assad shivers, feeling the temperature shock of the warmth of Eric’s palm and the cold of his thick wedding ring on his navel. Assad’s voice is less steady when he speaks this time, Eric’s breath on his shoulder.

“I have laid you bare before me once and now you undress me in front of the one I love, leaving me exposed and on display for everyone in the room to pick at my wounds.”

Smart, smart, smart boy, this 70 years old man behind him, grinding against him, undressing him slowly. Eric leaves Assad’s pants at his knees and his now creased and sweated through pearly shirt in some corner of the room. He holds Eric’s left wrist to slide it down his body, his thigh, up again to his crotch, as his right hand teases his nipple. He feels Eric’s tongue on his neck and moans strained as Eric takes him in hand, opens his eyes — when had he closed them? — to see Luke biting his own lip so hard he must be drawing blood. Assad wants to taste it, wants to taste them both. But he has to break things up just once, real quick, very importantly.

“Luke, bedside drawer,” he chokes out. No one flinches, Luke gets the lube and condoms and snakes back into place, hands obediently beside his head once he hands the items to Assad, and everything goes on.

Assad moves methodically in a way that feels incorporeal as slicks up his fingers and warms them before pressing one into Luke, the moaning mess below him. Eric touches him slowly and reverently, rolls a condom on him, kissing and licking and biting his back, his shoulder blades, his ear. Assad struggles to maintain his line of thought.

“I hate you so much, Daniel Molloy, my beloved,” he fingers Luke and says to his face and sucks in a breath as Eric feels his cock twitch, squeezes its base to calm him down. “You ruined me years ago, you are ruining me again, and I will make you mine more than anything or anyone ever was,” he slides in another finger, watches as Luke arches his back, squirms and whines, feels as Eric releases him to take off his own clothes. Assad starts speaking again in a growl, completely lost to Armand and his want. “I will fill you up with me and my blood and my seed, and thoughts of me and love for me, until you have nothing else, you are nothing else but mine, entirely mine.”

Luke can’t take it anymore and taps his arm, begs with his eyes to be fucked properly, and Assad nods, leaning over him, because he is the Devil’s Minion and will be grant his every wish.

He turns Luke in a way that they can lie down on their sides and he passes the leg that's not leaning on the mattress over Luke's hips, and when Luke also spreads his legs it's so easy to enter him, to reach far inside him and be enveloped by his warmth.

“I drain you and you drain me,” he says shakily when Eric’s hands are back on him, touches his temple to the mattress so his neck is exposed and Eric concedes, sucking on his flesh like he will at some point, and Assad’s eyes roll back, feeling as Luke squeezes on his cock and whimpers like they were meant to do this from the very moment they met. “And we become one,” he thrusts very slowly, letting the head of his dick get squeezed by the tight ring at the entrance just to fill him up completely again, and Eric, oh Eric, oh Daniel, listens to him like a puppet, knows just what to do, moves down so he can fit his face in the space where Assad has his legs spread, can mouth at his rim and fuck him with his tongue in time with Assad's rhythm, and it's pure bliss. It can't be easy or comfortable but it feels so good that Assad can't speak anymore, and he can't quicken his pace either, so they stay for what feels forever like that, the drag on Luke's ass and Eric's tongue and he feels taken, he feels loved, he's giving Armand what he needs.

Luke is already overstimulated enough when he feels Assad's hand on his neck, squeezing lightly with the thumb and tips of his fingers, just the sides of his neck, just enough to make him come untouched, spurts of it smearing as he writhes in pleasure, staining the sheets and his chest and even his chin and Assad’s hand right under.

The movement dislodges Eric but it’s okay, because Assad has to pull out, on the verge of climaxing as well, and calm himself down because he isn’t done with them yet. But Eric doesn’t care anymore. His Daniel is older now, is impatient, is his fledgling and his blood, and he wants.

He turns Assad around by the hip, takes his hand and licks Luke’s come from its back, sucks on Assad’s fingers, holds Assad’s jaw to force his mouth open and lets the pooled spit and come drip on his tongue. Assad swallows under his stare, and for the first time since this all started someone else other than Assad speaks.

“I remember now,” Eric says, and his voice is rough with the lack of recent use and his previous actions. Assad wonders if his jaw hurts from eating him out and wants it to hurt more. “I remember you in my life like a persistent buzzing sound, everywhere I went you went, everything I had was yours, and I have always been yours.”

Assad realizes he hadn’t kissed Eric yet this whole night only when their lips touch, and it’s a hungry thing, their kiss. It tastes like sex and it makes Assad moan right in Eric’s mouth, and he moans again and again as Eric manhandles him, lies down and pulls Assad to straddle him, touches his rim with a lubed hand that Assad has no idea how came to be. He fingers him and swirls his tongue around Assad’s and bites his lip and sucks on his tongue and moans on his neck and Assad can’t take it anymore. Assad is Assad, not Armand, and he is hunger.

“Enough,” Assad pants, “enough. C’mon. Eric. I want you.”

He half expects everything to stop but once again, they surprise him. Nothing different happened, because this is what this was all along. Assad is Assad and Luke is behind him, Luke has caught his breath and is holding the tip of Eric’s cock against his entrance and holding his hips and helping him down, down, and also speaks now that Armand is gone.

“He told me he’d ride you and you’d remember him riding me,” he says against Assad’s messy hair, touches him from his arms to his armpits to his waist and back, to his ass which Luke squeezes and sets the pace for them.

“Yeah,” Eric agrees after a minute watching them with heat, and beckons Luke to him, “come here.”

Assad rolls his body, feels it deep and hard, and as Luke and Eric kiss all tongue in front of him he wraps a hand around himself and comes, and comes, and comes.

It’s white noise and shivers all over and when he opens his eyes he doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he’s now sprawled on his back on the bed and Luke’s hair is scrunched up in Eric’s fist and he is swallowing down Eric’s load beautifully on his knees.

The three of them lie down tangled, avoiding the wet part of the bed. Luke behind Assad who’s on his side, and Eric facing him and Assad running his fingers through the white hair on his body, kissing him deeply, feeling Luke’s open mouthed kisses on his back. 

“I have a question,” Eric says, and Assad stays looking at him while Luke has to lean on his elbowto be able to see him. Eric looks at Assad pointedly. “You have the script of the turning, don’t you?”

Assad laughs, shakes his head. “I promise I don’t.”

“Then, how?” Luke asks, “How did you come up with all of that?”

Assad turns on his back to be able to look at him too, and both Eric and Luke immediately reach their hands to touch him, Luke with his fingernails on his belly and Eric massaging his chest. Assad never wants to leave this room.

“I don’t know. He’s been in my mind so long that I feel like I can be him whenever, not just on set. He’s — this job is the job for me, you know?” He looks at each of them and both nod back at him, understanding. “It was just something I had taken from what I’ve read and made my own conclusions. That is Armand to me, in all his intensity.”

“I think you’re amazing,” Luke says, and Eric agrees:

“I think you’re exquisite.”

They remain like that, the intensity of it all hitting them. But then again, Eric Bogosian is in the room, and nothing that heavy can last long with him there to ease the mood.

“You two owe me a massage. I’ve been in positions tonight that my body hasn’t known for decades.”

Luke laughs under his breath and Assad giggles, turning to him again and pulling Eric closer. “I’ll give you as many messages as you want.”

“Wherever you want,” Luke adds, and the three of them laugh, their characters gone, only the warmth of their human bodies present.