#anyway everyone go look at ttf's art immediately

[nordax]

burning, yearning need to bleed

baby's first iwtv fic, let's fucking go

armand/daniel, mirror sex, a hand job, biting, a lot of blood and a healthy side of masochism. wc: 4k

ao3

inspired by the gorgeous, incredible, breathtaking art by the lovely @ladyofthecreeddraws

It starts, like it often does, with three simple, little words. I wanna see.

And Daniel is morbidly curious in every aspect of his life, both personal and professional, so it really shouldn’t come as a surprise that he wants to watch Armand sink his fangs into his neck and feed from him. He’s always following so closely, so intensely, as Armand slices his own wrist open with his claws, watches the blood rush to the surface and out of the wound, down along his skin, and into Daniel’s waiting mouth, and Armand attributed that to addiction, or to Daniel’s fascination with tearing things open and seeing how they work, pulling secrets free through clenched teeth. Personally and professionally.

And he whispers those words into Armand’s curls, and he looks at Armand with those pretty eyes, pupils blown wide, high on the vampire’s blood, and begs to see.

Armand offers to bite into Daniel’s wrist so that he may see, or his thigh, and the boy refuses point blank, says it won’t be the same, that it won’t be right. He’s erratic, eyes wild, grabbing two handfuls of Armand’s shirt and pulling him close, impossibly close, clinging to him, hiding his face in the brook of Armand’s neck. Bites at him, with his dull human teeth, for good measure. I need to see. 

--

So, here they are, with Daniel perched on Armand’s lap, his back flush to Armand’s chest, and they’re sitting on an armchair in front of a large, ornate mirror. Daniel had asked if Armand bought it just for this occasion and Armand scoffed, mumbled something about the vastness of his antique collection, and they both know he procured it specifically for this, for Daniel.

Daniel is all nervous energy, amped up from his usual restlessness, fidgeting and squirming in Armand’s lap. They look good, Armand thinks as he watches their reflection. He is still fully clothed, in his blazer and slacks, hair neat and styled, and Daniel is naked, hair still tousled from sleep, from when Armand practically dragged him out of bed for this. Daniel’s legs are on either side of Armand’s, spread open and displaying his soft cock, and it’s a pretty sight, the stark contrast of them like this, and made even prettier by Daniel seeing himself much like Armand sees him, stripped bare and so ready to be told what to do, bathed in the dim golden shine of the bedroom lights.

“Are you going to be good?” Armand asks, lips brushing against the shell of Daniel’s ear. Daniel shivers with it, with excitement and desire and curiosity. Armand resists the urge to touch, keeping his hands still on the armrests, seemingly relaxed, as if unaffected by the sight in the mirror, on his lap, all around him. Daniel knows him well by now, would notice the effort in keeping himself from touching Daniel, if he wasn’t so riled up, so deep in his own head.

“Yes”, Daniel finally says, breathes it out like a promise, emphasizes it by nodding enthusiastically. And usually he’s very good, even without being explicitly asked, and Armand has never been particularly good at denying Daniel anything he wants. This, though? For this, he might need to be taught a lesson in patience first.

“What do you want, beloved?” Armand asks, nosing along Daniel’s hairline behind his ear and down the back of his neck. Daniel tries to arch into it, to turn his head and offer the side of his neck closer to Armand’s mouth, and that’s not how good boys behave, trying to shortcut straight to the reward. Armand dances his fingers up along Daniel’s arm and across his shoulder, up to the base of his neck, brushing his hand through the messy curls and grabbing a handful, pulling down hard. A little too hard, if he’s honest with himself, but the sensation seems to go straight to Daniel’s dick, and he has no way to hide it from Armand here, like this.

“I do believe I asked you a question”, Armand says, and he has Daniel’s head tilted back to an uncomfortable angle, pulled down against his shoulder, throat open and exposed, and yet there are no complaints in the boy’s mind, just the calming static of pain, of Armand.

“I want to see”, Daniel whispers, eyes rolling back in his head as Armand tugs on his hair once more before releasing him. There’s a faint blush on Daniel’s cheeks, spilling down his neck and chest, and his cock is already filling out. Armand watches him study their reflection, tilting his head like it will somehow make a difference in the image in front of him.

“Look at you”, Armand starts, bringing his hands to both sides of Daniel’s neck, holding his head still, thumbs rubbing circles behind his ears. He feels the way the boy’s whole body shivers, how he goes a little breathless and his cock jumps at the thought of Armand’s long, slender fingers wrapping around his throat, squeezing, holding his life in his hands. “So fucking desperate, you’re already hard. Could you cum like this, for me, without ever having your pretty little cock touched?”

Daniel eats up his words like he’s starving, forced to watch their reflection, and his eyes are dark, hungry, darting around until they meet Armand’s. He looks so gorgeous, so ready to be ruined in Armand’s hands, and please, Armand, pleasepleaseplease is echoing in his head.

“Use your words, beloved”, Armand purrs, lips ghosting over Daniel’s ear, sucking at the bottom of his earlobe and Daniel whines, flexes his hands where they’re sitting neatly atop his thighs, and he’s being so good, not touching himself even when that wasn’t specifically asked of him. Maybe there is hope, then, that he will behave well enough for his rewards, and learn this little lesson in patience. A little mean, perhaps, but he knows how Daniel enjoys that, letting Armand unravel him and then put the pieces back together, to carve open his chest over and over again, make himself a home there, nestled between his fourth and fifth ribs, mirroring his heart.

“I want to watch you feed from me”, Daniel says, words coming out slowly, deliberate. Like he knows the weight of them, wants to watch them sink into Armand. His eyes are intense, determined where they meet Armand’s again through the mirror, and he nods, slides his fingers down along Daniel’s throat, finds the point where he usually bites, below his ear, near his jugular vein. Armand presses down with one single claw, lets it dig into the skin but doesn’t break it, and goosebumps spread all around it, like ripples in water after a stone is tossed in. With his other arm, Armand braces the boy against himself, wraps it tightly around him.

“Here?” he asks, circling the spot and Daniel lets out a breathless moan, turns his head to give Armand better access, and Armand slides his hand around to cup his jaw, squeezing until he can feel Daniel’s teeth through the flesh of his cheeks where they dig in, and Daniel moans with it, arching his back and clawing at the arm anchoring him against Armand. “Be good for me, beloved.”

It’s not a suggestion, or a plea. It’s an order.

Or what? Daniel thinks as Armand’s hand finally slips from his jaw, settles back around his throat. His thoughts are so loud, with that lopsided smile and cocked eyebrow, head tilted again, that Armand doesn’t need the mind gift to figure out that the boy is asking, begging for trouble. Or punishment.

“Out loud, please”, Armand reminds him. “I want to hear from you tonight.” Want to witness you fall apart, just for me. Because of me. 

Daniel nods slowly, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with arousal, with lust, and takes a few deep breaths. Armand revels in the feeling of the muscles of his throat working against his palm, the flex of tendons under his hand, the steady stream of blood pumping right underneath his fingertips.

He could tear open the boy’s throat with his claws and play in all of the blood that spills out of him, paint a portrait of him with it, of them, all over the floor and the walls; paint a mural of their past all across the ceiling, and it still wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t soothe the ache that’s settled somewhere far too deep in his bones. He could pour the blood back in the boy, clean up his wounds and heal them, only to sink his fangs into the boy’s neck to drain him again, and Daniel would thank him, would appreciate that, because he loves the sight of his blood running down the sides of Armand’s mouth and down the column of his throat, and Armand has never been a messy eater, but for Daniel? Anything. Everything.

Sometimes, he thinks, it would be easier to just kill the boy and be done with it. Tear out his still beating heart, his bleeding heart, as if Daniel wouldn’t give it to him willingly, and watch the light drain from his eyes. Watch him down in his own blood, rather than watch him hungrily lick the drops of Armand’s blood from his skin, watch him smile with his teeth stained red and his pupils blown wide, and kiss him and lick the taste of his blood from the boy’s mouth.

And Armand opens his mouth and lets his fangs drop, and Daniel shivers, shakes with it, hands squeezed tightly around the arm that’s tethering him to Armand, to this moment, and his eyes are fixated on Armand in their reflection. On his mouth, on his fangs, and how the tips of them shine in the low light, almost like how sunlight reflects off of water, and the intensity of Daniel’s gaze borders on too much. His thoughts, too, the desperate thrum of need, and the overwhelming idea that Armand looks beautiful like this, that he looks beautiful with his jaw unhinged and fangs out.

“Please”, Daniel says, begs, pleads, fingers digging into Armand’s skin where he’s holding on impossibly tight, and not for the first time, Armand wishes Daniel possessed the strength to bruise him. His touch burns, feels like a brand, and it never stays long enough to settle the itch under his skin. “Armand, I need-”

The words die in Daniel’s throat as he lets Armand tilt his head back and to the side, and then his fangs are scraping against his skin, teasing, tickling. Daniel is practically vibrating in his lap, and somewhere in the back of Armand’s mind, there’s a faint echo of patience, of teaching a lesson, and then he finds the spot he dug his claw into earlier and bites, letting just the tips of his fangs pierce the boy’s skin and he forgets everything except the hitch in Daniel’s breath, the heady scent of arousal hanging heavy in the air, and the sweet taste of blood rushing into his mouth, the tinge of Daniel’s sweat. 

It’s a superficial wound, just a tease, and when he pulls away, Daniel whines.

“How does it feel?” Armand asks, lifting his eyes to meet Daniel’s in the mirror. “Tell me, Daniel.”

And he leans down again, tongue darting out to lick at the little droplets of blood rapidly drying on Daniel’s skin. Daniel arches into the touch and hisses as Armand sucks on the marks on his skin, trying to coax more blood to the surface, but the wound is too shallow, and yet the little noises Daniel makes are far more satisfying than any blood could ever be.

“It stings, a little”, Daniel says finally and takes in a deep breath, all stuttery on the inhale. “Doesn’t hurt though. Tickles.”

Armand hums, and Daniel makes a choked sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh, and then Armand slots his fangs into the wounds again and Daniel’s whole body tenses up. Armand bites down slowly, revels in the way Daniel’s pulse picks up, in the warmth radiating from his body and the twitch of his fingers on his arm, the wetness seeping into his slacks from Daniel’s leaking cock. His fangs sink into the boy’s neck inch by inch, and it’s agonizing and it’s euphoric; the slow sink into Daniel, the warmth flooding into his mouth and trailing down the sides of his mouth, down along Daniel’s skin because he’s still hovering over him instead of biting down fully, and the waver in Daniel’s voice makes his head spin a little.

“Burns, like… Like how they always talk about that hot, white flash of pain in books and movies, yeah? Feels fucking good. And the stretch, fuck, Armand.”

The rest of Daniel’s words turn into a garbled moan as Armand’s mouth finally slots against his skin, and he fits there perfectly, the curve of his lips against Daniel’s neck, and he drives his fangs as deep as they’ll go, and Daniel is panting, cursing and pleading, and Armand sucks hard, fills his mouth with blood and then he has to pull back again, he has to, he needs to see. 

Daniel looks defiled. Mesmerizing. Debauched. Gorgeous.

He’s flushed all over, the blush spilling down his neck and chest, reaching all the way up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and his lower lip is swollen and red, like he’s been biting on it. There are two less than neat puncture wounds on his neck, and the skin around them is a blotchy red, from Armand’s mouth, and there’s blood trailing down, down along his neck and pooling in the little dip above his collarbone and threatening to spill over. He’s squeezing onto Armand’s arm with his knuckles white, and his cock is beautifully hard and leaking precum between his legs, curved up towards his stomach.

Armand swallows, finally, and meets Daniel’s eyes through the mirror.

“How do you feel, beloved?” he asks, dipping his fingers in the blood pooling on Daniel’s collarbone and sending it pouring down further, over his chest and down his stomach. The wound on his neck is still bleeding, slowly but steadily.

“Good”, Daniel manages, and his eyes keep drifting from Armand’s to his own neck, and he would need to crane his neck and turn his head to see properly, but yet he’s sitting perfectly still, in the position Armand arranged him into. Armand drags his hand down Daniel’s front, smearing the blood as he goes, and somewhere between cupping his pec and circling his navel before settling on the curve where his thigh meets his groin, Daniel stops breathing. He holds his breath as Armand paints the blood across his skin, down to his inner thigh, tracing along where his femoral artery lies under his skin.

“Look at you”, Armand says, hand coming up to wrap around Daniel’s dick, and the noise Daniel makes should be recorded, should be pressed into a vinyl so that he might keep it forever, and listen to it over and over again. “What a gorgeous mess.”

He gives Daniel a few slow strokes, fingers wrapped too loose around him, and the remnants of blood mix into the precum leaking steadily from the head of Daniel’s cock. A sloppy, wet mess that is threatening to ruin one of Armand’s favorite pair of trousers, and he could command Daniel to stand up, to clean up the mess he’s made, to get down on his knees and lick Armand clean, and he would obey happily, but something here feels too precarious, too precious to disturb.

Perhaps the way Daniel can’t seem to catch his breath, how he’s desperately rutting into Armand’s hand and still clinging to the arm Armand has draped around his torso, holding him tightly in place. Or the scent of his blood, trickling down his body, and the sight of them, the shine in Daniel’s eyes in the mirror, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and it’s too much, it’s entirely too much, Daniel’s spread legs and his pretty cock in Armand’s hand, his blood everywhere around them, on them. Too much, and not enough. Never enough.

Daniel whines at the loss as Armand pulls his hand away, and then pries Daniel’s fingers off of his other arm. He places his free hands on Daniel’s hips, and wants to squeeze, to push his claws into the soft flesh and tear him apart, pulling him into pieces.

“Up”, he says instead, and his voice sounds uncertain, hoarse even to his own ears. Daniel scrambles off his lap, knees a little unsteady for a moment. “Towards the mirror.”

And Daniel is good, so good, and he steps closer and closer and Armand follows, eyes never leaving their reflection. There’s something intoxicating about watching himself approach Daniel, a predator stalking up to its willing victim, the sacrificial lamb holding a knife to its own throat.

Armand presses up against Daniel, an arm’s length from the mirror and takes Daniel’s hands in his, places them against the glass. And if there’s a tremor in his hands as he glides them back down along Daniel’s arms before releasing him, neither one of them say anything about it.

“Spread your legs for me, beloved”, he says and Daniel nods, scoots his feet apart until Armand hums in approval. He tears his eyes away from their reflection only to be able to study Daniel. This close, he can see the bruise forming right under the bite mark on Daniel’s neck, and the knowledge of that buzzes pleasantly under his skin. He follows the freckles and marks on Daniel’s skin down along his back to the soft curve of his ass, finds his hands on Daniel’s hips again, pulling him closer, impossibly close. 

He nuzzles along Daniel’s hairline at his neck, behind his ear, licks at his skin to taste his sweat and trails down, down, down to the wound. It’s no longer bleeding but it’s still open, raw and red and abused, and there’s never been much self-restraint for Armand when it concerns Daniel.

Please, Armand. I need it, do it.

Daniel looks pained, almost, as he silently begs for Armand and his brow is furrowed in a way that always spells out trouble in one form or another, and he’s biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, and maybe that’s what he’s aiming for, maybe that’s what he needs.

“Out loud, please”, Armand whispers, lips ghosting against Daniel’s skin, and there’s a pause, and a flicker of something in Daniel’s eyes Armand can’t quite figure out before he swallows and takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut.

“Armand. Bite me.”

And maybe he meant it as a slight, meant to have some bite to it, but it comes out more like a prayer.

“Look at me, beloved.”

Daniel’s eyes open just in time to see Armand’s fangs sink into his skin again, slow and intentional, letting blood rush to the surface and spill down Daniel’s neck before his mouth closes over the wound and he settles there, pressing his body against Daniel’s, one hand still in a bruising grip on his hip while he wraps the other one around Daniel’s dick, squeezing hard at the base. Daniel’s body is hot against Armand, and he can feel the warmth even through his clothes, and Daniel whines and begs, sweaty hands slipping on the glass of the mirror but he keeps his position, keeps his eyes open, keeps watching Armand feed from him.

How does it feel? Tell me. 

Silence follows, and it takes a moment, an eternity for Daniel to get his mouth working, and Armand keeps his fangs embedded in Daniel’s neck. It’s inefficient, and there’s a dull ache in the joint of his jaw, but the pleasure radiating from every inch, every iota of Daniel is enough to keep him like this for however long he must. Daniel opens his mouth and nothing comes out, and he closes it again with a frustrated sigh. Armand strokes his cock languidly, gathering the precum pearling at the tip and spreading it all over before slotting the edge of his claw into the slit at the tip, and Daniel’s hips buck up into it, involuntarily.

“Fuck”, he breathes out and Armand’s hand is back at the base of his cock. “Hurts, fucking… Feels good. The pain feels distant, like it’s an old wound or a scar that aches when the weather gets bad. Radiates through my whole body, and it’s hard to tell where it stops and you start. Feels like if you move, I’ll cum.”

Armand hums against Daniel’s skin, and his cock jumps in Armand’s hand.

My hand, or my mouth?

Daniel chokes out a laugh, and it jostles Armand just a little, and he can feel his fangs tearing further into the boy’s skin, into his flesh. He gives Daniel’s cock a few strokes, faster and tighter this time, and it’s awkward angle but Daniel’s knees almost buckle under him, and Armand is sure his fingerprints are etched into the boy’s hip by now.

“Either. Both. Armand, please, I need… you”, Daniel says, and there’s an edge of despair in his voice that sinks deep into Armand, settles somewhere near the pleasure coiling tight at the bottom of his stomach, licking up the base of his spine.

And he gives the base of Daniel’s cock one more squeeze before letting go, earning him a high whine, and he brings his hand up, watching as realization dawns on Daniel, and his eyes go wide and his pupils are blown so wide he looks like he’s experiencing the best high of his life, and then Armand dislodges his mouth from Daniel’s neck and spits into his own hand, trailing blood and drool down Daniel’s shoulder as he does so.

Daniel’s legs are trembling as Armand’s hand wraps around his dick again, and he sets a slow pace. It’s messy and sloppy, and not quite what Daniel likes, but he still unravels beautifully in Armand’s hands, breath catching in his throat as Armand’s tongue darts out to lick at his neck again, gathering up the blood and swallowing what he can, laying his tongue flat against Daniel’s skin and licking long stripes along his jawline and back down, and when he twists his wrist and rubs his thumb over the slit of Daniel’s dick, the tip of his tongue circles the puncture wound, dips in, and Daniel comes with Armand’s name dying on his lips.

Armand holds him up even as his knees buckle, and strokes him slowly through his orgasm, following the heave of his chest through the mirror as Daniel tries desperately not to float away. His cum paints the mirror, and slides down along it, and absentmindedly Armand wonders if Daniel would allow him to take photographs of him like this.

“Was I good?” Daniel slurs, head lolling back against Armand’s shoulder, a wide, spent smile on his face. Armand hums, and Daniel lets himself be turned in Armand’s arms, hides his face instinctively against the hollow of Armand’s throat, hands squeezing into fists in Armand’s coat.

“Yes, Daniel, you were very good”, Armand muses and takes a tentative step backwards, towards the bed on the other end of the room. Daniel follows on unsteady feet, but follows nonetheless.

Daniel lets himself be laid down on the bed, and there’s a glazed shine in his eyes, and his hands keep drifting up to poke and prod at the wound on his neck as Armand undresses, letting his clothes fall in a pile to the floor, they’re mostly ruined anyway. He takes a towel from the bedside table, and hauls Daniel into his arms, presses the cloth to his neck. Daniel hisses and tries to pull away, but his body is loose and pliable and Armand curls around him, tucks Daniel’s head under his chin and wraps his limbs tightly around him. He tries not to dwell on how strenuous all of this will be to clean later, and rather on the warmth of Daniel against him, the slight shiver in his limbs and the calming static of pain, of Armand in his head.

“Rest”, he whispers into the messy curls on Daniel’s head.