Chapter Text
Daniel is a little taken aback the first time Armand approaches him with scissors menacingly clasped in hands. The thrilling pang of fear hits him, the one that reminds him he’s living with a killer (and loves that about him).
He is in the bathroom, taking one of his many pills, when Armand accosts him.
“I wish for you to cut my hair.” His voice is strained as he says it. Daniel doesn’t have Armand’s power to read minds, but he thinks he’s starting to learn how to read him pretty well. He sees the rhythmic tightening and loosening of his jaw, the minuscule twitches of his neck, the way he can’t quite seem to make eye contact with Daniel.
“Okay, I can do that. I can’t promise I’ll do a good job, though.” His hands haven’t been too shaky today, but sometimes it comes out of nowhere. He figures he should at least give Armand a reminder of that in case he butchers it (or accidentally butchers him a little, even though the damage wouldn’t be permanent).
“That’s fine. It’ll grow back by tomorrow anyways.” He thrusts the scissors into Daniel’s hands and turns to sit on the rim of the bathtub, facing the wall. Daniel gives the scissors an experimental clip in the air. They look sharp but not particularly suited to cutting hair.
“They’re from the kitchen,” he says, shortly. “I’ll buy new ones.” Daniel doesn’t bother chastising Armand for reading his mind, more concerned about the mood he’s in.
“What brought this on?” He surveys Armand’s head, trying to think of the best way to go about it. He’s cut his own hair before and he used to trim his daughters’ split ends, but he’s never done something like this. The fact that it’ll all grow back by tomorrow alleviates a bit of the pressure, but still.
Standing behind him, Daniel can see the tension in Armand’s shoulders and neck. He sets the scissors down gently and moves to massage some of the stiffness away. For all that Armand can look like a marble statue, he’s usually as soft and pliant as a mortal. Now, he feels like stone. Daniel’s gentle presses are as effective as trying to cut into diamond using a feather.
“It’s brushing against my neck.” Daniel has been so focused on trying to calm Armand that he’s already forgotten his question.
“Huh?”
“My hair. It has been brushing against my neck and if this is not rectified I may do something rash, so please, get on with it.” Armand kills people on a regular basis so Daniel would hate to see what “rash” behaviour is from him. He is again reminded that he lives alone with a bloodthirsty vampire. “Don’t be silly,” Armand snaps. “I would never hurt you.”
“I didn’t think you would. If you’re gonna read my mind, you’re gonna get some of those unfiltered thoughts, love.” Armand doesn’t reply and Daniel concedes that any attempts to soothe him at this time are useless. Daniel presses a kiss into the nook at the base of his skull, breathing in the pleasant aroma of shampoo that clings to dark, curly hair. Hair that he now has to cut off.
“How short do you want it, boss?”
“As short as possible.” He’s sitting rigid, spine straight like those old-timey aristocrat ladies, trained by balancing books on their heads. It’s a funny image, one he doesn’t think Armand would appreciate at the moment.
“Got it.” Daniel picks up the scissors again and decides to just go at it, rip the bandaid off. He grabs a handful of hair near Armand’s temple and cuts. It’s not quite down to the scalp, but it’s close. Still, Armand’s hair is so thick it’s hard to see any skin. He keeps going, snipping around his head as the pile of hair grows on the ground like fallen ash. With each descending tuft, Daniel can see the tension ease out of Armand, neck relaxing and breath evening out, becoming heavy. By the time Armand’s hair is unevenly shorn, he is loose-limbed and pliant.
Daniel ruffles his short hair, enjoying the new texture of Armand’s head. He loves the long curls but it’s nice to experience all of the different versions of Armand. Daniel grabs a towel to brush away any stray pieces of hair that may be lingering, then leans in to tuck his face against Armand’s neck.
“How’s that feel?” He wraps his arms around Armand and feels him melt into the embrace.
“Much better.” Armand’s voice is soft and dreamy when he finally speaks.
“No more tickling?” Armand hums in agreement, tilting his head back to press a kiss against Daniel’s cheek.
“Thank you.”
“What do you want to do now? Are you tired.”
“Mmm, no,” Armand says, unconvincingly. “I’m going to watch a movie. You can join me if you like.”
Daniel presses a kiss into his neck and sighs, preparing himself to watch some movie he’s probably seen a dozen times before. But he’ll watch it again. And again if that’s what Armand wants. God, is he ever whipped.