Work Text:
Dubai, early December 2022
“Son of a bitch,” Daniel mutters, feeling absolutely ancient.
He wants to listen to the radio, but of course this metal and concrete joke of an apartment doesn’t have a normal radio. It has a Bluetooth HiFi surround sound pretentious asshole speaker system. So Daniel’s trying to connect his phone to that, but it’s not working and it’s pissing him off.
Armand glides into the room. “You called?” he quips, his eyes big and innocent, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.
Daniel is unamused. “Ha ha.”
Armand holds out his hand for Daniel’s phone and Daniel begrudgingly hands it over.
A few seconds of tapping and swiping later, they’re surrounded by the dulcet tones of Nat King Cole singing The Christmas Song.
Huh. Daniel hadn’t even realized it was already this late in the year.
Armand offers him his phone back. “I never imagined that I would be the one to usher you into the 21st century,” he says, his smile more pronounced now.
Daniel stuffs the device into the pocket of his jeans with a frown. It probably makes him look more like a pouty toddler rather than a grumpy old man, but he can’t help it. He hates it when technology gets the better of him. Hates feeling his age.
Armand holds out his hand again. “Come.”
Daniel automatically places his own hand into Armand’s. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere. We’re going to dance.”
Armand leads him into the center of the room like Daniel is a debutante at his first ball. Daniel scoffs.
“Don’t act so surprised, Daniel. We used to dance quite often.” Armand places Daniel’s free hand onto his shoulder before slipping his own arm around Daniel’s waist.
“Not like this, though.”
“No.” Armand moves them closer together and puts his cheek against Daniel’s. “Not like this.”
Daniel closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh, relaxing into Armand as Armand gently sways them from side to side in time with the music.
After a minute or so, Armand asks, “Better?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Armand’s tone is overly neutral, probably because he can tell that Daniel still feels a little bothered and he doesn’t want to make it worse.
Daniel sighs. “I just don’t like feeling old.”
They’re still cheek-to-cheek, though Daniel has opened his eyes.
“Then allow me to deliver your weekly reminder that there is a way in which we can ensure you’ll never feel old another day of your life.”
Not this again. Daniel tries to not let the subject agitate him. He knows Armand means well.
“So you don’t ever feel old?” he asks Armand.
“Not physically.”
“Out of touch?”
“Not recently.”
Daniel doesn’t really feel out of touch himself all that often. He still keeps up with the news, politics, he’s better with computers than most guys his age. But sometimes Armand’s tech bro nonsense drives him nuts.
Armand holds him a little closer and Daniel closes his eyes again.
The song ends and Driving Home for Christmas comes on.
Armand stiffens slightly when Chris Rea starts singing. “Would you…like to?” he asks.
There’s a tightness in his voice that Daniel doesn’t quite register. He’s so comfortable in Armand’s arms, and a little drowsy.
“Would I like what?”
“To go home. For Christmas.”
Daniel pulls back a bit, so he can make eye contact.
Armand has that blank stare that means he’s worried.
Daniel caresses Armand’s face with the back of his fingers. “I am home, baby.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, of course. Yes.”
Armand’s eyes are wide and bottomless.
“I am,” Daniel insists. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. There’s nothing out there for me,” he adds, and means it.
Armand told him that once, decades ago, during a fight, implying that Daniel would always come crawling back to him, no matter what. Daniel resented him for it in the moment, but Armand had been right.
“You don’t want to visit your family?” Armand asks.
“Eh. I’ll send them a card.”
Armand smiles at him and Daniel smiles back, which makes Armand’s smile go wider. He looks more like an angel than ever.
Armand has this thing he does where he becomes taller than he is, usually when he wants to intimidate. He also has this thing he does much less often, where he becomes small and pliant, and he does it now.
He rests his head on Daniel’s shoulder and melts into Daniel’s arms, and Daniel suddenly finds himself leading their dance, Armand’s hand on his shoulder, his own arm around Armand’s waist. He moves his hand to rub the small of Armand’s back and Armand hums contentedly.
“Would you like to celebrate?” Armand asks after a while. “Christmas, that is.”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought. Doesn’t that clash with your, you know…”
“Being a vampire?”
“Being Muslim.”
Armand gives a little shrug. “We’ve celebrated Christmas together before.”
They had. Multiple times. One year Armand had transformed an entire room into one of those little Christmas villages, complete with a model train going through it. He’d dragged Daniel all over town on Christmas Eve in pursuit of every last bag of fake snow.
Armand never did anything by halves.
“Yeah, but you were kinda…lapsed back then, weren’t you?”
Another small shrug. “When you observe Christmas, do you actually celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, Daniel? Or do you simply celebrate because everyone around you does? Because it’s tradition? Christian religious holidays become more secular every year.”
“Fair enough.”
Daniel hasn’t been to a church service that wasn’t a wedding or a funeral since he was 19. Isn’t sure if he’s ever really believed in God.
“We can purchase some decorations,” Armand says. “Watch Christmas movies. I believe Home Alone is traditional.”
“Yeah, or Die Hard,” Daniel replies. “You ever watch Die Hard?”
“I have not.”
“We should. I think you’d like it. And I suppose I wouldn’t mind some hot chocolate and gingerbread. Or sugar cookies. Matching PJs. That one was a joke – we do not need matching pajamas.”
Daniel tries to make eye contact again, but they’re too close together for that; Armand’s head is still on Daniel’s shoulder, the top of his forehead resting against the side of Daniel’s neck.
Armand hums in a way Daniel can only interpret to mean, “We’ll see,” and Daniel resigns himself to the idea of being made to wear matching Christmas-themed pajamas.
“Mulled wine,” Daniel continues. “Oh, and honey-glazed ham.”
It’s been ages since he’s had a proper Christmas ham.
“No ham, Daniel. I am still a Muslim.”
“Turkey, then? Or, mm, beef Wellington. With lots of gravy.”
“Whatever you want, my love. Just give Chef your list.”
They dance in silence for a while, Daniel’s head resting against Armand’s, his eyes closed again.
“So, do you eat people who’ve had pork? I mean, where do you draw the li – ”
“We’ll go and find a Christmas tree tomorrow,” Armand cuts in.
“In Dubai?”
“Yes, Daniel, in Dubai. You’d be surprised how many people visit here specifically for their Christmas holiday.”
Daniel scoffs. “Rich assholes, no doubt.”
“Naturally. This is Dubai. And even if Christmas trees were hard to come by, being a ‘rich asshole’ myself, I could simply fly one in. I could have Christmas decorations delivered to the North Pole, if I were thus inclined.”
“Yeah, no, let’s not do that.”
“Agreed. That would be excessive.”
Daniel chuckles and he can feel Armand smiling against his neck.
“So, those are our plans for tomorrow,” Armand says. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to do today?”
There isn’t really. Daniel is pretty damn happy where he is right now. “This is nice.”
He feels Armand’s smile again. “Yes,” Armand sighs, “It is.”
