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Armand had taken to bird calls recently– interested in imitation rather than proper widespread recognition— and had settled on the Western Capercaillie as his current endeavor. Bearded, throaty, and proud. When the staff and the interviewer had all gone to sleep he would practice clicks couched deep in his gullet, let them echo the halls as well as he could. The deeper, throatier croaks proved harder, a step too far out of his natural register; what he produced lacked in bass but made up for it in vampiric hisses.
Tonight’s spotlight of the dinner was a juvenile male. It was closer to maturity than Armand had anticipated, and less wieldly in Louis’ arms than his own. But as Rashid he was forced to slink back and watch supposedly stronger men bring the cage in and set the table, then clasp his hands behind his back and nod them away while their Vampire got to work. Louis was no stranger to animal food fighting back but his meals overwhelmingly consisted of short-necked four legged things. And though its blood ran hot it ran different, and through the chaos of its swelling feathers and croaks and screams Louis struggled to land a single fatal blow. It took two bites, but the second resulted in mess.
Whether through its haphazard thrashes or the crushing increasingly impatient grip building pressure wrong within it, its neck burst across his face, mis-placed arterial spray painting the side of his face and spurting into his eye. Louis made a disgruntled growl, and when he opened his eye the red sent it looking more feral than its usual spearing intensity. When he pulled his fangs free the wound still gushed messily, he frowned and sucked hurriedly at the fount, sucking his teeth afterwards as if annoyed with the bird specifically. Daniel had taken the opportunity to excuse himself and muttered something about salmonella.
Armand waited patiently for Daniel to shuffle out of the room before approaching the table. “If I may, Mr. du Lac?” Armand took the corpse of the grouse from Louis’s hands, now lumpy and patchy where feathers had been shaken and clawed loose, and set it back on the plate. Louis’ fingers drummed softly on the table, still stained with blood. Bits of down clung to his knuckles. Armand longed to kiss them. “We’ll want to get this before it stains.”
“You may, Rashid.”
Armand had to crouch to meet Louis’ level at the table, loose black clothes draping him like long shadows. He reached out to Louis’ face and cradled it between his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away at the blood that stained the lush curve of his lips. Louis wrinkled his nose at the scent of latex. “Did you want my attention?” Armand asked softly. “You have it. Always. There’s no need to make a mess of yourself.”
“You surprised me with the bird, love.” Louis closed his eye as Armand swept his thumb over to clear it, shivering at the unexpected coolness of saliva there. “I’m not throwing a tantrum or nothing.”
“As long as you know you can ask for things. I’m at your beck and call.” Armand straightened to his full height, examined the blood on his gloves and the smeared mess left on Louis’ face. Before he could fully form the question Louis raised his eyebrows and slightly shook his head.
With a towel, Armand.
Of course, my love . He used the time it took to gather, soak, and wring out a towel to imagine finishing the job with his tongue, licking absently over his lips at the vision. He lacked any of the tolerance Louis had for animal blood but even the texture of his lover’s skin was ambrosia. He returned less sated than when he began but with the proper materials, and bent down once again to clean Louis properly.
Louis took easily to small rituals like this, turning his elegant head every which way when guided– whether gently or firmly. His long eyelashes cast minute shadows over the curve of his cheeks when he tilted his chin, giving Armand access with the grace of someone who was offering a service instead of receiving one.
Armand continued, reverent. “I’ll feed you from my lips, my veins if I must. That goes double for Rashid.”
Louis’ throat bobbed with a swallow. “Might raise suspicions in the boy, seeing us leashed together to some IV machine like that. Daniel already looks at you like a mouse in my cage.”
“I like to think I’m prettier than a mouse.”
Louis smiled. “I think you’re prettier too. Maybe Rashid’s more like a grouse than a mouse.” He chuckled despite himself and ran a hand through Armand’s hair, weaving his fingers through his curls, then tracing fingertips down the line of his throat. “Make that noise again for me?”