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Daniel wakes up just before twilight flickens on the New York's sky, like guards electrocuting a deadly predator or someone very much innocent. Doesn't matter in the vampiric word, anyway. For it the sky is dark and endless, and upon nighttime everyone looks indentical when asleep. Daniel is not afraid to addmit he likes it that way, mostly for the fact that he favors the unknown, but it also brings comfort of knowing he's not the only monster out there.
Every night, Daniel's journalistic visions and hunger for blood awakens him, he yawns as he rises from the coffin. Hidden from the Sun, he grew hungry and cold, every experience mixing with an uneasy feeling of an early emotional breakdown. Lately, that's how his evenings play out – bored, then angry, hungry, needy. Sometimes full of madness, other days almost catatonic. He can't shake off the feeling of loneliness. Although he is not alone in the apartment. He sniffs in the calm air, the domestic bliss of dust among laundry detergent, fresh air of another night, an almost metallic aftertaste. And obviously, an antique heart of vampire Armand. Daniel can also smell his blood, veins full of it, moving, buzzling with energy. Boat with its hull. An avalanche. Little bubbles of bloody saliva in the corner of his mouth. And, oh, Daniel, the young vampire, yearns for his maker.
He lets himself drool over the flavour of his maker a little longer before taking small step after another – after all, Daniel's apartment is quite small and clustered, there are not many walking possibilities; Feeling like old-schooled Dracula, he creeps over Armand. Green walls of the bathroom closing on them. Then, the smell of hair dye hits Daniel's nose and he almost sneezes. It really is a travel back to his middle aged second wife, and the memory of helping her dye her hair hazelnut color. Over the same sink Armand stands over now. Both with the same tight posture, curly hair, age on their shoulders but not really on their faces – just in their eyes.
"Babe, what are you doing?" Daniel stretches like a cat by the door frame. He lets his sharp nails catch on a piece of wood. "Are we dressing up for a kill-date?" He asks his maker, hoping for another night out - oh, he wouldn't say it, still, Armand has to know that Daniel grew to love showing himself off to the outside world. He was much faster than any human, much funnier, people recognized him as a guru of gothic erotica, it seems sometimes that his soul is very young. But what really matters – noone ever could touch Armand, who at every opportunity sticks to him like a candy. But Daniel is quite fond of that, actually. May people be jealous and suspicious of their relationship.
"We may, if you feel like it. But I was actually thinking about some time alone, with you, my love. You still have to feed, of course, but I have everything planned." Armand's voice is almost flirty. He sounds so young, yet not modern. Sophisticated, maybe; when he finally turns around, Daniel can take a better look at the gray hair dye on his maker's black curls. The shine is vibrant, very natural and rich in color - the dye must have been quite pricey, and Daniel knows how little cosmetics' companies care for grey foxes and their wannabes.
He snorts, amazed.
"Do you like it?" Armand childishly looks for aproval, smiling sweetly. He takes off the gloves, putting them on the sink, making a mess with the hair dye. He just shrugs, clearly not minding the stains.
"Of course, baby... But is it a sex thing or nah 'cause it may be for me, now..." Daniel swallows as he can't keep his eyes away from the way Armand is standing arched over the white sink.
The question itself and the desperation in Daniel's voice makes Armand laugh. And it is the most beautiful, the most heartstopping sound to ever be heard. It bounces off the walls and enters Daniel's 72 year old heart. Never getting boring or simply too much. So when Armand flies over the small space and pushes Daniel out of the bathroom, his lover scoops his warm-well-fed-devil in his arms, while smiling with long fangs and tongue and wrinkles, like he never had before. It's beautiful because this IS his old body, his vessel, his silver, his fruit of knowledge and desire. He lived a full life and he couldn't be more grateful to Armand - for not killing him in San Francisco, not turning him when he was still an imprudent young man – for making him a creature of the night out of his aged body. That was a gift he now can appreciate... The realization makes Daniel frown his eyebrows as he tries to hold in bloody tears. He sure looks stupid, but Armand is still on top of him. Still in love.
So they kiss, naturally. Sewn together they approach their shared bedroom. Or coffinroom. The sexroom. Armand's still wrapped around Daniel's neck like a boa snake.
"Daniel, how can I give myself wrinkles like yours?" Armand asks innocently, which make Daniel question if it is a sexual matter or still purely emotional, still this longing for the experience of growing old and bitter. But no matter the cause, he's in on Armand's another experiment.