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Armand recalls Daniel telling Lestat in one of his wretched little books that locks never kept Armand from anything. He has to concede to this assertion because tonight he’s out with his beautiful Sybelle looking at wedding dresses.
The consultants have all gone home of course, and the faint sound of rain taps on the glass of the windows. The fluorescents overhead make the white gowns look sterile and severe. He watches Sybelle peruse the racks, running her hands along lace and beads and taffeta, trying to find a material that won’t overstimulate her.
Before coming tonight he had asked her what kind of style she had in mind, she had only replied something she could easily sit and play the piano in, naturally. She had composed a piece for Antoine and wanted to play it for him.
Antoine had proposed by scrawling a love note on a piece of sheet music and leaving it at the piano for her to find upon rising. Sybelle never needed sheet music, so she was understandably confused upon finding sheet music at her piano, but her eyes welled up with blood tears almost instantly. He’d never seen his girl so happy.
Sybelle doesn’t have a mother anymore, so like any proud father, Armand offered to take her dress shopping for when they hold their ceremony in the gardens of Trinity Gate.
He’s watched many movies, he “knows the drill”, as Daniel would so eloquently put it. He had initially offered to use the Spell Gift to keep a consultant for them so they could have an authentic shopping experience but Sybelle had simply waved her hand at him.
“I only need you there,” is what she had said to him.
She settles on a simple gown with thin straps, so shiny and silvery it almost appears wet. It falls tastefully around her curves and accentuates her breasts. She tries on a veil but decides it’s not for her before she playfully slips it onto his head. Translucent fabric falling over his marble face.
Though her face is now hazy, he sees her give him a small smile before leaning in and placing a delicate kiss to his mouth over the veil.
“I think you’d make a pretty bride,” says Sybelle.
“You do?” He flushes at the words.
“Of course,” she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world before gliding off to look at accessories.
“I’m worried about Sybelle,” he says into his sleek iPhone.
“How so?”
“I think the stress of her upcoming union with Antoine is affecting her mental faculties. As her maker you should come at once to see her and if need be, guide her. This is a very important time for her and I would so hate to see it ruined,” he easily lies.
“Right, of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Armand audibly sighs into the phone. “Thank you, Marius.”
“Anything for you.”
Trinity Gate is empty tonight. The lights are all off, though there are candles burning throughout the house, lit in a strategic path to his bedroom.
He left the front door unlocked on purpose. He hears the siren sound of Marius’ heartbeat as he approaches. He listens as he knocks. A moment later, after Marius receives no answer, he hears the door being pushed open slowly.
“Hello?” Marius calls out. “Armand? Sybelle? Benjamin?”
“Up here!” Armand yells in response. He’s almost positive Marius can hear the way his heartbeat speeds up, like a rabbit being hunted down by a wolf. He nervously tugs at the fabric of his dress as he waits for Marius to find him.
Marius, who always chooses to walk at a mortal pace. It’s maddeningly frustrating.
Armand waits on the corner of his four poster canopy bed. He’d brought out the red bedding tonight for such a special occasion. He kicks his legs anxiously, the bed too high up for his feet to reach the floor, leaning against one of the vertical wooden columns with his arm wrapped around it.
Marius gives one courtesy rap on the bedroom door before entering.
“Armand? What is the meaning of this?” He questions in an annoyed tone as he pushes the door open. “You knew I was coming, why are all the lights-” is about as far as he gets before he’s silenced by the sight before him.
Armand has to fight the urge to blush and curl in on himself. What he wouldn’t give to be able to read his maker’s mind at this moment. Maybe he was too rash, maybe this was a mistake.
Well, too late to turn back now. He steels his nerves, giving his maker a demure look.
“Armand…” Marius starts before trailing off, oh it's always so delightful to leave such a verbose scholar in a state of silence.
“Yes, father?” Armand says coyly.
He tracks the way Marius’ pupils dilate as if to say, so this is the game we are playing.
“What are you wearing?” He asks softly. Armand can see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows at the sight of him. He had bathed after he had eaten earlier in the evening, and used some oils in the bath which Marius had given him for Christmas the year prior. The ones he only uses when Marius comes to visit, so Marius will bury his nose where the scent is strongest and nuzzle into him like a great big house cat. Like those people who used to keep lions as pets, and were eventually eaten by them.
He wants Marius to do that to him.
“Oh, this?” Armand looks down at himself as if he just noticed the state he’s in. As if it wasn’t carefully chosen for the imagery it evokes.
“I took Sybelle shopping for a wedding dress. I saw this dress and it felt reminiscent of the era in which you lived as a mortal man. I thought you might like it.”
It’s a flowy chiffon gown in ivory, reminiscent of something a Roman perhaps would’ve worn, but not quite. The V shaped neckline is much too deep, and the back is open too. Sleeves cover a sliver of his shoulders but the fabric of the arms is tastefully cut away and left to dangle at his sides. He could hold the fabric out like wings if he wanted.
“And Sybelle needing me, was that simply a ruse to get me here, little nymph?”
Armand nods. “I know how seriously you take your work, but I needed you here, and I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I see. And is that what you want? To be my bride?” Marius questions in a heated voice, warming Armand like a coal fire.
Armand had made sure to eat well earlier that night, so that his skin would be hot to the touch, it makes the color rush to his cheeks to hear Marius say such things, to acquiesce to his request. He has to look away, letting his curls fall into his face.
There’s a shift in the air and then Marius is kneeling in front of him, pushing the fabric of the dress up to his knees, revealing the white stockings on his legs.
Marius doesn’t look like he’s fed. When a hand comes to wrap around his ankle, squeezing it reverently, it’s almost the same shade. He holds the ankle up, the fingers on his free hand tracing all around his foot, over the heel, the ball, along the vein in the top of his little foot.
“You could’ve simply asked, my love. You do not need to concoct elaborate schemes to get me to spend time with you.” He presses a kiss to both knees. “Or to be intimate with you. Say what you want and it will be yours, darling wife.”
“Mortals, sometimes they pretend to be something they’re not, for fun, to lose themselves in the pleasure of the illusion.” He remembers the games Lord Harlech and him had played, wretched and vile man, but it had been so fun at the time, pretending to be someone else.
Sometimes he and Daniel will go to a bar and pretend to be strangers. I don’t do this often, Armand will whine, pressed up against the sink in the men’s bathroom while Daniel ravages his neck. And then Daniel will reply, I can tell you don’t, spreading your legs for me like an eager, desperate little slut.
Armand spent decades managing a theater, could anyone blame him for craving a little theatrics from time to time?
Marius hums. “And in this illusion, you wish to be my bride?”
Armand nods vigorously.
“Is tonight meant to be our wedding night?” Marius purrs, running a large hand up his calf, under his knee, and up the skirt until his hand meets the garter belt affixed to one of his thighs.
“Yes,” Armand says breathlessly, spreading his legs so Marius can press himself even closer.
“It’s June,” Marius casually states, toying with the garter belt. Armand’s hands reach out to comb through the long blond hair, and then sliding to his face, thumbing over his cheekbones.
“Astute observation,” Armand replies, mildly annoyed by the change in subject when he’s brimming with need.
Marius snaps the garter against his skin, it’s not painful, but it still makes him jump. “June derives from Juno, the Goddess of marriage for my people, you know this. To be married in June is believed to be a good omen for the marriage for that very reason.”
He leans down and sinks his teeth right below the garter belt, making Armand gasp.
“Oh,” he sighs. “I didn’t know that,” he says dreamily as Marius takes his fill of blood.
Marius sits back on his heels and Armand watches his tongue swipe over the blood stains on his teeth.
He climbs on top of him, making Armand sink into the plush, king sized bed. Marius’ bodily easily covering his own.
Their lips finally meet, Armand letting out a soft moan into his mouth as his tongue wanders inside. Finally, he thinks.
His body is a little warmer now due to Armand’s blood coursing through him. His arms come to wrap around Marius’ neck and hold him close as if he could fuse their bodies together.
He feels Marius push the skirt up around his hips, legs immediately going to wrap around his waist and grind up against Marius’ hard cock through the dark slacks he always wears when he knows he’ll be in the city. No robes in New York. Armand moves his hands to divest Marius of the black velvet blazer he also wore tonight, running his hands along the red silk button down underneath, feeling the muscles flex beneath it.
He doesn’t waste time with the buttons, tearing it straight down the middle, scattering the buttons across the bed, onto the hardwood floor. Marius lets him push it off his shoulders before breaking the kiss to give a hard bite to his neck.
“Little imp, I liked that shirt.” He says into his neck.
“I’ll buy you another one, husband.” Armand sighs.
Marius shivers at his words. “I should make you pick up all the buttons and fix it yourself, little wife.” He pinches his thigh. “Does this mean I can tear your pretty dress?”
“If you like.”
Marius lets his eyes shamelessly rake over the gown, like he’s actually considering it, before he notices what Armand is wearing underneath it. White lace panties, barely covering him at all. His own cock leaking red all over the material. Armand sees his eyes darken as he takes in the sight, waiting with bated breath to see what he’ll do to him.
He tears the scrap of fabric effortlessly, tossing it to the side like it was offending him personally. It makes Armand giggle.
“Tell me, my love. Are you a virgin bride?”
The questions fans the flames in Armand’s groin all the way to his apple cheeks. Catching like a wild forest fire.
“Yes,” he whimpers. He gives in to the scenario. His trembling thighs now not from anticipation but from trepidation. He slides into the roll easily. “Will you be gentle with me?”
“Of course, little one,” is all he gets before he sits back, Armand’s legs still spread and bracketing his hips. He brings a hand to cradle his cheek, thumb tracing his pretty petal lips. “Open your mouth.”
Armand obeys, like a good wife should.
Marius reaches inside and makes a cut on his tongue, the suddenness of it causing Armand to hiss.
Marius grabs his jaw to keep him still, two fingers on his other hand probing the wound.
When Marius removes his fingers they are coated in blood and saliva. He reaches down between them to circle his rim. His hole flutters with want, with need.
“I’ll go slow, since this is your first time.” Marius kindly assures him.
There’s lube under the pillow, Armand wants to tell him as he finally sinks his long painter's fingers inside of him. But this feels more obscene, and he’s always liked a little pain alongside his pleasure. Marius was always good at giving him that.
The stretch and burn feels nice but the rhythm is too slow. He tries to rock down on Marius’ hand.
“So desperate for me,” Marius murmurs.
“Uh-huh,” Armand nods, whimpering.
Marius chuckles lightly. “I didn’t realize I married such a little slut. Am I going to have to make sure to check the sheets afterwards for proof of your virginity?” He chides without any real malice.
“No, I’m a virgin, I promise. It’s only you. It’s all for you,” he babbles.
Marius leans down to kiss his cheek, the fingers pumping into him maintaining their same agonizingly slow and steady rhythm.
“Please, I need you.” Armand begs sweetly, reaching between them to undo Marius’ pants.
“You don’t even know what you need, little love. You’ve never had anything like this inside of you before, you don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“So show me,” he hastily retorts, regretting the sassiness almost immediately. He wonders if Marius will strike him for the comment. He almost hopes he does. “Please,” he adds in a saccharine voice.
“Patience, patience, my dear. You’ve made it this long unspoiled, what’s a few more moments? I need to prepare you before you take me. I need to make sure I can fit in my beloved wife’s tight, virgin cunt.”
Armand snaps his fingers and the bottle of lube under the pillow comes flying into his waiting hand.
Marius stares in astonishment.
“Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises tonight.”
“Wish I was full of something else,” Armand mutters.
“Be a good girl and get me ready then, since you’re so impatient.”
He can’t help but stare dazedly up at his old Master, sitting back on his haunches, fly undone, cock thick and straining inside the silk underwear, face irritatingly serene while Armand feels like an exposed wire.
He sits up, coquettishly freeing the cock from its confine, pushing the slacks down just enough to be able to coat it thoroughly with the lube. There’s just something more satisfying to Armand about clothed sex. An added desperation to the moment.
And he was desperate.
Marius must notice this desperation because he then says “Lay back for me,” voice full of love and adoration.
Armand does, hands folded neatly over his stomach. Legs splayed open, dress bunched up at the waist, and auburn curls spread like a ring of fire on the pillow.
“Look at you, all laid out for me, my little June bride,” he whispers in reverence as he strokes his cock lazily.
“Make love to me, my husband. It is our wedding night, please, don’t make me wait any longer.”
“Yes, how could I forget. Happiest day of my life,” his voice dripping with a sincerity that almost gives Armand pause. He’d never considered approaching Marius about the idea of taking him as a Blood Spouse, he assumed Marius wouldn’t want to tie himself to Armand in that way.
Armand would probably say yes, if asked. Not that it matters! He has Daniel, and sometimes Louis, and on very brief occasions, Lestat.
And yet, here he was.
Here they were.
Marius was the first kind touch he ever had between his legs, he was a virgin in that way when they had met.
Finally Marius slides inside, slowly feeding him his cock, as if he could possibly break him. It feels like coming home, it always does, even after all these years.
Marius catches the cry that escapes Armand’s mouth when he’s fully sheathed inside of him with his own lips, pressing into it a mouthful of his own blood. Armand swallows it hungrily.
“You’re so tight, but you’re taking me so well, precious one. So good for me. You please your husband so well.”
Armand’s nails claw at his back, hard enough to draw blood, can feel it getting under his fingernails. High pitched moans are forced from him as Marius expertly nails the spot inside of him that colors every sensation in a deep, rich burgundy.
Like lightning striking him and turning him into glass, he finds himself shattering at every plunge of Marius’ cock inside of him. Tears well in his eyes and run down his rosy cheeks, Marius laps them up then goes to bite his earlobe.
“My wife,” Marius sighs into his seashell ear.
“Yes, yours, always yours, eternally yours,” Armand sobs.
The sweat stains the gown pink and makes it cling to his curves.
Marius tugs the straps of the dress down to expose his nipples to the candlelight. Biting the meat of his breast before sucking a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, pulling on it with his sharp teeth.
“Master,” the old name slips out.
“Tonight I’m your husband,” Marius corrects, before moving to the other nipple.
“You’re everything. You must know. Master, husband, father. Anything, all of it.”
Marius growls in response, almost biting down hard enough to tear the nipple clean off.
“Daddy,” Armand whines.
Marius groans at the name. It was Papa that used to echo off the walls of the palazzo for all of Venice to hear, now it’s the more modern Daddy .
“Yes, my love? Tell your father what you need.”
“Touch me,” Armand begs.
“No. You’re a virgin, my darling, surely you’re not so well used that you need a hand on your cock as well.”
Armand pouts. Marius plunges in deeper, hips slamming at a rate that would shatter a human pelvis, which elicits an embarrassingly loud cry from Armand. Thank God nobody else is home.
“Come on my cock, my darling girl. If you come it’ll increase the likelihood of you becoming with child, would you like that?”
Armand’s synapses are all firing at once, he squirms desperately, hips undulating wildly, in the cage of Marius’ arms, head thrown back against the pillow.
Marius grabs his jaw with one hand, squishing his plump cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet.
“I asked you a question, sweet girl, would you like that?” He punctuates the question with a particularly sharp thrust.
“Yes, Daddy,” he cries.
“Good girl.”
Still holding his face, Marius dips his fingers inside his open mouth, fucking inside it just like he’s fucking his hole. Saliva spills out the side of his mouth just like the lube dripping obscenely from his hole with every thrust of his cock.
Marius takes this opportunity to bite down hard on his neck, Armand coming hot and thick between them once his fangs are buried deep inside, ruining the dress even further with his bloody release.
His Master throws one stocking clad leg over his shoulder and folds Armand in half. Armand bites into his pectoral muscle, mouth filling with blood in hot gushes and making Marius moan loudly.
When Armand detaches from the muscle Marius kisses him deeply before turning his attention to the ankle by his head. He starts with simply grazing his fangs over the thin layer of skin covering the delicate bone, then he nips at it, like a warning.
It is, because then he chomps down on it, cracking it open, there’s so much blood gushing into his mouth that he can’t drink fast enough and it spills down to his neck, his chest, over the fine silvery chest hair, and down to his slightly rounded and soft stomach.
The kids call it a dad bod, Armand had explained. It’s quite popular these days.
Marius had simply scowled at him.
Armand wants to lick at the blood on it. He ignores the pain in his ankle, it’s already starting to heal anyways. But his husband is so kind, so he holds Armand’s chin steady and spits his own blood into his waiting mouth.
“My pretty little wife,” he coos, running one of his large paws over his curls.
“Fill me, please, darling husband. I need it.”
“Need what? Use your words.”
“I need you to finish inside me. I need you to give me a child.”
He feels Marius’ cock twitch inside of him.
“Anything for you.”
He chases his own release with brutal thrusts and barbaric grunting. The sound of slick skin slapping echoes throughout the candlelit room.
Armand takes one of Marius’ hands planted near his head and threads their fingers together on the bed, running his free hand over his own nipples before pulling the bottom of the dress up to just below his chest.
“Look how deep you are,” Armand points out, staring down at his own stomach, the outline of Marius’ cock bulging at each relentless and powerful thrust inside his body. “It’ll take, I’m sure of it.”
At that, he feels Marius’ release flood inside of him. He imagines it goes so deep he could taste it in his throat.
Marius makes him take a bath afterwards, his back to his Master’s chest as he washes Armand’s hair free of all the blood sweat from their prior activities. He lets Marius carry him back to the bed bridal style, naked as the day he found him. He lays down amongst the crimson bedding, Armand settling on top of him with an ear pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his lover's heart, Marius soothingly scratching at his scalp.
“You know, if you wanted to wear a traditional Roman wedding dress all you had to do was ask. The gown was lovely, of course. You must know you have never been unappealing to me. However, I could have found you something more historically accurate.”
Armand rolls his eyes and nips at his chest, “I love you.”
The hand in his hair stills for a moment, before it resumes it’s scratching.
“I love you too.”