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“I thought you like these tropical cities.”
“I do,” Daniel said. His hands were thrown over his head, resting on the flat pillows, so his shirt was pulled up to expose his navel. “Just not in the hundred-degree heat.”
“Then why did you come here?” He could feel Armand’s eyes even if he refused to open his own.
“I don’t know, Armand. Because I’m an idiot. Stop asking me questions.”
The truth was he hadn’t considered the temperature. He hadn’t even considered the location. Just go. Find a new place. A new city, a new country if you can. The same as he’d been doing all year, although the cat-and-mouse game had changed. He wasn’t really fleeing now. Running, yes, but less for his mortal life and more to see if Armand would follow.
It was terrible and so inexplicably exciting to wake up in a new city, going about like he were another tourist but always looking for a flash of auburn hair or waiting for a pale hand to catch him by the shoulder.
Daniel bounced from bistro to bar to nightclub, waiting for his inevitable appearance, for that sly smile that said I’ve got you again . But the bastard didn’t show.
He thought he found him once, across the club — a pale figure with red hair pulled in a ponytail — but it wasn’t him. Daniel knew it before he made it halfway across the place. The boy had bright, almost orange hair whereas Armand’s was the deep red of a smoldering flame.
Still, he tried talking to him, bought him a drink, thought in the dim light of a hotel room, he might be able to convince himself he was Armand, but knew it was useless before the kid even finished his drink. A year on the run dried up any skill he might’ve had for small talk. He could see the boredom, then the wariness on the kid’s face as he suggested they move to his room for the night.
The boy was polite in his rejection and Daniel, already sweating from the embarrassment, paid his tab and rushed into the night. He didn’t even try to hail a cab, too furious with himself, with Armand for reducing him to this humiliation. He walked the ten blocks back to his hotel.
By the time he made it, his shirt was soaked with sweat. The night didn’t dampen the heat like he thought it might, just condensed it so it seemed he was walking through a hot mist.
He threw open the hotel door, prepared to take a cold shower and pass out in front of the A/C, but, of course, there was Armand, with that little I got you grin. Daniel didn’t even bother asking him how he got in. He flopped back on the mattress, arms spread.
“This place blows,” Daniel said to no one really. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
“I like it,” Armand said, as though he too were simply thinking aloud. He was staring out the window. “I like how they twist lights up the palm trees and how the people take pictures of the flowers.”
“It’s a tourist trap,” Daniel said then, throwing a glance in his direction, snapped, “Close the window. You’re letting out the A/C.”
“Tourist trap,” Armand echoed, enunciating the words slowly as if he could taste them.
Daniel groaned and closed his eyes again. “At least bring me my cigs, would you? On the sill.”
He heard the gentle tapping of Armand’s shoes as he crossed the room and reached out his hand without opening his eyes. Armand’s fingers brushed his as he pressed the pack into his palm and Daniel jumped as if pricked by a pin.
“Jesus! You’re freezing!”
“I haven’t fed tonight,” Armand said simply, eyes rounded. “I only arrived a few hours earlier and, then, I was watching you.”
“Why were you watching me?” Frustratingly, Daniel was less annoyed by the violation and more that Armand hadn’t greeted him. But Armand gave him no answer. He turned as if to return to the window.
“Wait. Come here,” Daniel said suddenly. He didn’t know what he was thinking until he started moving over to one side of the bed. “Sit next to me for a second.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, goddamn it.”
So Armand did. He sat on the corner of the bed at first then slowly outstretched his legs and leaned his head back against the cushioned headrest. Daniel scooted closer, closing the distance between him so their shoulders touched.
Even through the fabric of their shirts, he felt that delicious cold. He curled on his side and pressed his face into Armand’s bicep, whispering, “Jesus.”
It was the product of the alcohol, he knew, but he was melting over Armand, pulling himself down the bed so he could press his cheek to Armand’s stomach. He felt Armand’s cool hand wipe the sweat away from his forehead and opened his eyes just in time to see Armand bring it to his lips and suck the sweat off his finger.
Daniel pulled a face. “Is that like blood to you?”
“No,” Armand said. “But I like the smell of it. I like the taste.”
Christ , Daniel thought but closed his eyes again. He felt Armand combing his frigid fingers through Daniel’s damp hair in a slow, rhythmic pace like one might a pet. His pet.
Armand went still and Daniel threw a look over his shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”
“Let me go. I’m hungry. You make me hungry.” When Daniel hesitated, he added, “If you don’t, I might kill you. Your cheeks are so red. It makes me want to.”
“Why didn’t you do it already then?” Daniel rolled off of him. The sweat on his back had cooled and the A/C gave him a little shiver. “Like playing with your food?”
Armand laughed as though the thought never occurred to him before, then said, “Yes. Yes, I think I do.”