my sweet corpse

The first thing Daniel was aware of were the nails against his scalp. 

Hard, cold, like glass or metal, yet flexible and organic– and always just the edge, the maddening edge. Daniel would recognize those nails anywhere. His subconscious was straining toward that touch before the world began to imprint on the backs of his eyelids, and his desperation drew it into rapid focus. Those nails stroked, stroked, until his skin hummed with pleasure. 

The room revealed itself. Nightstand, lamp. Snowflakes drifting past the high-rise window. Digital clock flashing red numbers into the dark. And then the white figure above him, blotting out the haze of the ceiling, burnished by the distant city lights. 

“Good evening, Daniel.” 

Armand. 

He was wearing wool today— white silk shirt, dark wool pants, hair like a halo around his angelic face. He gazed down at Daniel with utmost tenderness, and as Daniel blinked blearily Armand’s fingertips slid to trace his ear instead. There was joy swelling up within Daniel– bright, boundless, ineffable joy– but Daniel wouldn’t show it. He squinted at the clock instead. 

“How long have you been here for?”

“An hour and a half.”

The numbers finally made sense– seven in the evening. Far into the dense darkness of New York’s winter nights. Daniel let his head fall, eyes drifting closed again, and Armand tucked his hair behind his ears. 

“So you just sat here and watched me sleep?” 

“Does that disturb you?”

“If that was enough to disturb me,” Daniel muttered, “I would have run off a long time ago.”

There was a breath above him— laughter. Yet warmth kindled within Daniel at the idea of Armand’s company, at being helpless at his mercy, and he hated it, for he knew Armand could feel it in his mind along with him. He glanced up nonetheless. 

The fond smile. The warm, loving eyes. Those heavy lashes low, fingers curling around the shell of Daniel’s ear.

Awake for five minutes and Daniel was already feeling like this. 

“You look beautiful when you sleep,” Armand murmured. “So innocent when you’re unguarded.”

That warmth sparked to blazing life. Daniel was aware of his pulse now, dull in his chest. The fingertips left his ear, trailing lightly over his throat instead. Submandibular, jugular. Could Armand feel his heart pounding just beneath his skin?

He wouldn’t think of this. He stared at his desk, ignoring the way those nails traced his veins in small, langurous circles. His desk, which was covered in crumpled notes, ashtray overflowing, empty beer bottles casting jewel-toned shadows where the light caught them. What had he been doing before he’d fallen asleep? Trying to write. Some fraction of some interview with someone he’d already forgotten. In his notepad, because his typewriter needed a ribbon.

It had needed a ribbon for a few months now. And the notepad was empty on his desk, and his pen had fallen somewhere beneath it long ago.

Yes.

He’d merely been waiting for this.

[AO3]

Blood kiss

It has the same username as this account, though there is nothing on it just yet... you should read the authors I have bookmarked in the meantime :)