I, ARMAND by JoAnne Soper-Cook jsoperco@morgan.ucs.mun.ca Hello! The Vampire Armand here, and I have a little story to tell you-- Damn! I can't start that way...it sounds entirely too much like *him*, and that is the one thing I want to avoid in this narrative. This is supposed to be about me, and it's high time that I had my own voice in this particular discourse.... Notwithstanding that mortal who got ahold of my personal diaries and distributed them, my voice has never been clearly heard. I exist in the tales of others, whether for good or for evil, whether a creature larger than life or sadly diminished by it. I exist in fiction, the brightly-illuminated fables of someone else's twisted take on legend, but I, Armand, have never spoken... I have been diminished by life, brutally and often, but I will not begin that way. I *refuse* to allow my tormentors that victory over me, at least not just yet. I will tell you something else instead: I will tell you of the first time I saw *him* again.... I had not seen *him* for many years, having left him and my own erstwhile companion, Louis, with each other. Of what transpired after that, I know little: I have purposely refused knowledge of them, or their whereabouts, have denied the periodic flashes of information furnished me by my preternatural senses. I have chosen instead to wander alone for a time, to dwell in silence, become a citizen of that peaceful nation, solitude. I deliberately shunned those of my own kind, kept my own counsel, and entertained my own thoughts. I knew nothing of my beautiful friend, the gentle Louis, and even less of my pretentious Brat Prince. Until one balmy night in August, that is. I had been wandering for a time around the Mediterranean, stopping at various small villages, carefully ingesting information about my immediate environment, as carefully as I chose my meals. I am something of what used to be termed a "picky eater" a pseudo-gourmand, if you will... At this particular time in my history, I had a penchant for the smooth-skinned, dark young men who line the tavernas and public houses, who gather soon after dusk to drink ouzo and to sing their boisterous nationalistic songs... The very smell of them, crowded together inside these simple structures could drive me into raptures, a veritable frenzy of lust, a fiery hunger that beat under my skin like a pulse. It was very easy, as some others of our kind have doubtless told you, to feed off of mortals in this manner, and have the establishment's other patrons think you were merely whispering in your drunken friend's ear... I myself have done it many times, and it was I who taught the trick to my beautiful Louis... But I digress... I had entered a taverna on the outskirts of some village this evening having already fed, and fed well...the blood had flushed my skin and I looked as close to mortal as I ever appear. I had decided to observe these young mortals for my amusement, and so I requested a glass of ouzo from the bartender and seated myself at a vacant table near the back of the room. I ought to have sensed it, I suppose: the very air hummed with their presence, carried to me by this special awareness that we vampires possess... Perhaps, since I had so deliberately closed off my mind to any knowledge of either of them, I knew nothing. I looked up, and there, at a table near the bar, was my beautiful Louis! And, of course, *him.* The Brat Prince, the damnable creature, that posturing aficianado of the ostentatious, Lestat. My chest was squeezed with a great ache as I looked at them, and my hand trembled around the glass as I set it down. The roaring of my blood seemed to magnify, pounding in my ears like a thousand drumbeats, and I fancied that even those around me could hear it! I watched my beautiful Louis, watched his gentle, deferential gestures, that long white hand coming up to brush his hair out of his face, the tip of his pink tongue as it darted out to wet his wide, sensuous mouth. He was seated so that I could clearly see his face, and the expression in his huge green eyes went through me like a stake... The entire universe, it seemed, was subsumed within him beauty, or consumed by my longing. I forced myself to look away, gulping in air in great, sobbing gasps. I felt seared by the sight of him. When I chanced to look at them again, they were kissing: oh, very discreetly, mind you---Lestat can be discreet when it suits his purposes, I suppose--but with passion, and something other that I vaguely identified as affection. Affection is not something with which I have had a great amount of discourse, and so.... Never mind. I cannot write that. It cuts too close to the actual truth, the truth of all truths. Lestat had leaned close to Louis, and the hand which had formerly rested on Louis's shoulder now slid up to cup his jaw, his thumb brushing Louis's full, lower lip. As Lestat drew Louis's face to his, his mouth slipped open, a split-second before connecting with Louis's lips, and then he was hungrily devouring Louis's mouth... I could clearly see the play of muscles in his face, his neck, as the kiss went on and on, becoming more and more heated, more and more passionate. Louis's hand went to Lestat's shoulder, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as one in the throes of ecstasy clutches at the bed- sheets... It was an altogether gorgeous and an altogether painful scene; yet, for all the anguish it caused me, I could not tear my eyes away. I was possessed by the beauty of it, infused with an acute awareness of the beauty inherent in each of them, and I found, the longer I looked, that my gaze wandered again and again to Lestat. This was very strange, but not unwelcome. I opened myself to the experience, and allowed my eyes to rest where they would. I watched Lestat's wide, mocking mouth being caressed by Louis, watched the play of light in his wavy golden hair, the perfect symmetry of his features, the way his eyelashes created soft shadows on his white cheeks. The collar of his shirt was open, and I found myself imagining what it might be like to slowly slip free the buttons, pull it off... I imagined a scene between the two of us, of infinite gentleness and tenderness, of teasing whispers leading into ecstasy... I allowed myself to imagine that he might eventually love me... "Another, sir? You would like another?" I looked upwards sharply to where the voice was coming from: standing over my table was the bartender, the ouzo bottle in his hand. He smelled of garlic and sausages, sweat and hair oil. I wished he would move away. "Another one, yes--another one." I didn't care what he did, whether he poured the drink or not. I had surreptitiously dumped the one I had under the table, where it had formed an unfortunate sticky puddle under my feet. Ah, well... I waited until he had poured me another of his potent libations, then impatiently waved him away. He strolled away with that curious, bowlegged sailor-walk that I had observed in most of the men here. Louis was gone! But, how could that--- "Armand." I glanced up, sharply, and there he was, Lestat! "Do you mind if I join you?" I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing emerged, and taking this for assent, he scraped the chair out from the table and sat down. "Where's Louis?" I demanded. I had the idea, for a fleeting second, that he'd perhaps done something bad with Louis. Sometimes I have ideas like that, I don't particularly know why... "What?" He peered at me, his blue eyes as hard as sapphires, and as brilliant. It seemed to me that when I peered into those eyes that I was gazing into the very nexus that held his soul to his body... a multitude of colours cavorted in those eyes, and I often fancied something else in there besides Lestat, if you know what I mean...something else observing me, scrutinizing me. "He's gone home. Why?" I didn't know what to say, and so remained silent. I seized the glass of ouzo and raised it. "You're not really going to drink that, are you?" Lestat was laughing at me. "Of course I am!" I replied, and knocked it back. Directly it had passed my lips, I recognised this for a very bad mistake. The thick, resinous liquor blazed a trail of fire from my mouth to stomach, and back again. I began to choke, coughing in a desperate attempt to force air into my heaving lungs. The taverna was whirling in circles and I felt the blood-sweat coming out on my forehead, Lestat pounding on my back. "That's enough! Stop it!" I had regained my breath enough to gasp out this command. My throat felt as if I had swallowed a torch... I closed my eyes and gripped the edges of the little taverna table, concentrated on drawing breath into my body in a regular rhythm. The thundering of my heart had slowed somewhat, but I couldn't disabuse myself of the uncomfortable notion that everyone in the taverna was looking at me. "They aren't--nobody's looking at you, you silly little fool! What did you think you were doing?" Lestat smoothed my hair back from my forehead, cleverly palming away the blood-sweat so it needn't be seen by the villagers. He signaled a passing girl for a glass of water, passed it to me. "Have a sip of that, petite cher..." He laughed, a low, furtive sound. "I would advise that you stick to your usual vintage, Armand... obviously the local liquor doesn't agree with you---" I drank some of the water gratefully, watching him over the rim. His sapphire eyes were mocking, his wide mouth tucked at the corners as if striving not to betray him with laughter. "Where's Louis?" I croaked, asking it again. The fiery ouzo had burned my throat. Lestat grinned. "He went *home* I told you---he and David are doing some research on something or other--" Lestat flapped his hand, as if brushing insects-- "something having to do with boring old books." He peered at me closer. "But what are you doing here in Greece, Armand?" I drank some more water, wiped my mouth as delicately as I could on my fingers. For some reason this made him smile... "That is none of your concern." "Ah!" His eyes twinkled, two blue stars. "So it *isn't* anything interesting, otherwise you would be bragging to me by now!" He leaned over the table. "Are you lonely?" "What if I am?" My voice was beginning to return to normal-- we are fortunate that way, for our kind heal very quickly and I am no exception... Lestat gazed at the palms of his hands for a long moment, then looked up at me. "We could...go about together." The secret vision of loving him flooded my brain. I wanted him to kiss me like he'd kissed Louis...I wanted his hands on me like they'd been on beautiful Louis... "Allright." I watched him toss a few coins onto the table for the bartender, for the serving girl... But my gaze was consumed by him, and only him... as he was splendid, once again, in tight dark trousers of that...how do you say it? Denim? Tight black denim trousers that showed the hard, sculpted muscles of his thighs, his tight buttocks, the neat bulge at his crotch... Tucked into these denim pants was a blousy white shirt, long-sleeved and open at the neck. He wore smart black boots on his feet, boots that had tipped heels, heels that clicked on the wooden floor. I would have liked some boots like that...I reminded myself to purchase some as soon as possible. "Come along, petite cher, the night is still ours..." And we were out in the balmy Greek night, a velvet darkness replete with the scents of a thousand delicate flowers, a darkness threaded through with the salty smell of the ocean. A bloated silvery moon hung over the near horizon, and the entire scene had, for me, the quality of a dream... I had come upon him again, in this of all places, and where he would take me now, I did not know. Somehow, during my long wanderings, I had been possessed by a silent shade of loneliness, and this loneliness had grown to fit me, and had hung from my very shoulders, an invisible cloak. Now here was my old friend, my old enemy, my nemesis and the lover I'd dreamed of but never possessed. I wanted nothing more than to sink myself, body and soul, into his luminous golden loveliness.... Lestat and I walked for some time in silence, a companionable silence broken only by the tapping of his boot heels on the pavements. I slid my glance sideways now and again to look at him covertly---he was so beautiful! I was amazed that I hadn't really noticed until now, eclipsed as it was by my preoccupation with Louis... I had completely ignored his burnished golden gorgeousness, the glistening colours that mixed in his sapphire eyes. But now, in the full silvery glow of summer moonlight, he appeared to me as a young god out of some ancient painting, a being who dwelt in loveliness. I wondered if he knew or not. "Don't be ridiculous!" His blue eyes slid sideways to meet my own gaze; he'd picked the thought effortlessly out of my mind. "Of course I know, you little fool!" Unspoken behind his mocking words lay something other... the bitter, intensely personal knowledge of beauty that can be turned recklessly from gift to curse... I caught images in his mind, of the alabaster Egyptian queen, Akasha---she'd chosen him for his beauty, I realized, and the implications went through me, a knifing pain. Following closely on the heels of this new realization was the creeping suspicion that Lestat was wanting something--badly. "Stop sifting through my mind, Armand---you're not at all subtle, you know." He stopped on the sidewalk, hands on hips, and for one terrifying moment, I feared that he might disappear, might leave me! "Is there somewhere we can go? I mean, do you have a room or something? I've no taste, suddenly, for wandering around out here...." His azure gaze bored into me, his examination splintering me apart. "I have a small suite of rooms in one of the better hotels near here. You are welcome to join me," I said stiffly. The wind was rising slightly; it picked up the wayward strands of his thick blond hair and twirled them between its unseen fingers. The moonlight, where it fell upon his alabaster skin left a silvery sheen, as if he were illuminated from within. The collar of his shirt flapped impatiently. "Fine. I'd like that." His hand brushed my shoulder briefly, dropped to his side. "Let's go, then. I think it might rain, later." I wondered why he'd said that---it was a clear night, and the statement was patently absurd. I pushed it from my mind and led him through the narrow Grecian streets to my hotel. "This is very nice, Armand---I would never have anticipated that *you* would choose such tasteful accomodations--" I was standing at the window of my rooms, looking out over the sleeping town. I didn't turn around. His mockery of me felt as if a cold, steel pole had been thrust through the center of me, and I was possessed of an immediate and quite foolish need to weep... I stood absolutely still, and dealt with this very familiar feeling as I always had: I let it pour over me like water, allowing myself to feel it keenly, not sparing myself at all... I never allowed myself the luxury of ameliorating my own pain--rather like those monks I'd known, who flagellated themselves mercilessly for their own infractions, I made of my pain a sword, and used it to impale myself. I felt I deserved that sort of thing, and rather I inflict pain upon myself than allow that sacred task to fall to another. Every time that cold, steel pole went through me, I grasped it with both hands, gave it an extra twist, for good measure. After all, I reasoned, how many strokes of the whip does it take to redeem oneself? One, or a thousand? It is a question I have yet to answer. "You aren't saying much, petit cher...come over here and talk to me." I turned from the window. He was languishing on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head, his long, strong legs tossed casually over the eiderdown where it lay folded at the foot. One leg was crossed over the other, accentuating that neat bulge at his crotch, and the crossed leg bobbed saucily up and down. As I watched, one hand went to the buttons of his shirt and slipped them free, opening the garment so that he was bare to the navel. I hurridly looked away.... "Armand!" Lestat was laughing, and his voice held the sound of disbelief... I recognised that sound, had heard it often, in the voices of others: my mother, so long ago, "Armand! I *cannot* believe you left the gate open!" in the voice of the monk, Decius, my primeval tormentor, "You open the door to the devil!" Various others, lost now to the whirling maelstrom of passing time... Always the disbelief, the disappointment, the disgust... The Abbot, to Decius, when he'd first been presented with me, "You found this boy in a *what?*" And Decius, falsely-humble, smirking, his bony hand tight on the collar of my shirt, "In a...*bawdy house*, Monsiegneur...." I shuddered now, remembering it... Ugh. These memories...better I should consign them to the depths of forgetfulness... remembering them now made me feel very...small, and very dirty. I sensed Lestat behind me; he'd contrived somehow to slip silently off the bed and cross the small space without making a sound...perhaps he'd flown, for all I knew of it. I felt his hand close around my shoulder, whirled in an eye-blink and shrugged it off. "Don't!" My heart accelerated madly, I could hear the blood singing in my ears. "Armand..." Lestat peered closely at me, and his blue eyes, formerly so very mocking, now filled with something very like...*empathy.* I felt the slim finger of his consciousness slip gently into my mind, searching... "I was only touching you...I'm not going to hurt you." He smiled gently, although his eyes were as sad as I'd ever seen them. "Are you going to knock me over the roof again, break all my bones?" He remembered that incident as well as I.... "I would prefer that you not touch me," I said, stiffly, and closed off my mind. Lestat felt the connection sever, and his eyes widened for an instant in surprise, an expression that mutated rapidly into disappointment. His sapphire gazed searched my face, then he raised both hands shoulder-level and backed off. I kept my face to the window until I heard the creak of the bedsprings, then I crossed to where he was and seated myself in the chair beside the bed. "Come and lie down beside me," he offered, patting the spot next to him. "No." I gripped the arms of the chair, felt the old wood creaking under my strength. "I prefer to...sit here." "I don't understand you at all," he said, but he let it drop. He drew one of his knees up, let his hand rest idly on his bare abdomen. "It's very interesting that we should meet again, you and I, don't you think? I had no idea you were anywhere near here, honestly...so tell me, what have you been doing since we last spoke?" His mind touched mine, and I allowed it, and he gently inserted the memory of the two of us embracing inside my house in the Adriatic... He nudged the memory further, and my mind filled with every sensation again: his hands on my shoulders went I went naked into his embrace, the warm, solidness of his body, his skin underneath his shirt. It had been easy to allow myself the luxury and the release of tears, clasped in safety in his arms, and truthfully, I was still not myself at that point. "Bronwyn has come to see Louis and I, and she asked me how you were..." I stared at him as long as I could, fighting against the emotion that was making the corners of my mouth quiver, making my eyes fill.... "Bronwyn?" My reluctant companion, my erstwhile lover, and the one other of our kind on whom I had meted out punishment equalling my own... At the mention of her name, I felt ashamed---but shame has so often been my daily portion, you see...so very often. "Yes, she wondered where you were." Lestat was scrutinising me, and probably knew just how hard I was gripping the arms of the chair. "Armand, let it go---" "Be quiet!" I was up, out of the chair, whirling away from him in great strides across the marble floor. "You know nothing, do you hear me, Lestat? Nothing!" I was sobbing, drawing in breath in great gasps, forcing it past my quivering lips. I felt in those moments as if the sum total of my existence up to and including that point had been reduced to its essence, subtracted down to its own meanest essentials.... It frightened me enormously. I saw my life rushing at me as if a great, dark cloud, engulfing me; I was drowning in this, it was swallowing me whole--- "Armand!" Hands, on my upper arms, hands shaking me gently, hands lifting my face up-- "Armand, listen to me!" I struggled against the hands and the voice, I struggled against the sanity they mustered, sinking to my knees on the cold floor. "No, God, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!" I heard my own voice coming out of me, this hoarse parody of speech, and I was kneeling on the floor. I felt his arms go around me, and I was clasped in an embrace stronger than passion, deeper than friendship, an embrace that stretched across the great gulf we both had created between ourselves... "Shhh, it's all right, Armand---" The strong arms tightened themselves around me; I would be safe now, I would be safe, and this horrible shrieking anguish would end... "Armand! Listen to me, please...." The blackness came rushing towards me as if cresting a wave, and I opened my spirit to it, met it, gave it my soul. It flooded in and devoured me, I was drowning in it, it was sucking out my soul.... I whirled out and away...the noises in my head faded into the distance as I swirled gracefully out through the top of my skull... It couldn't hurt me up here, could it? It couldn't get me... I was looking down on the tableau that was spread beneath me, I was watching my own limp form, propped in Lestat's arms as we both knelt on the stone floor. I saw that my head was lolling back against his shoulder, my eyes open and glazed, unseeing--- --Then I was back. I was shaking as if with a palsy, and I couldn't make the shaking stop. I slid my hands up the front of Lestat's shirt and clasped my quaking fingers around the back of his neck, buried my face in his chest. I was fairly vibrating with this, and he was the only solid thing in the room. We sat for a long time on the floor like that, and he didn't move at all, nor did he speak. Several measures of time spun out, unheeded by either of us, and then he shifted slightly and drew me onto his lap. "Armand...?" His voice, his hands, oh, God! the gorgeous smell of him, the softness of the golden hair, brushing my cheek... "I'm all right." It was a whisper, but a whisper was the most that I could manage. I clutched into him like a child, my fingers digging into his skin, and then he lifted up my face and looked deep into my eyes. "Ma pauvre petit cher..." His exquisite mouth pressed against my temple, my cheek, the corner of my lips, and I turned in his embrace and captured his searching lips with my own, slipped my hand behind the sweet curve of his neck, held his face to mine... His hands slid around my waist and up my back, and he reclined slowly on the floor until I was lying on top of him, and still the kiss went on... I slipped my tongue between his lips, felt the returning flicker of his, the deep groan that escaped him as my hands kneaded the hard muscles of his thighs. His long-fingered hands slid down and clasped the muscles of my buttocks, fitted my hips more closely to his own, and the surge of desire was sweet as I wrapped my body into him. This is so very right, I thought, capturing his sculpted mouth in another exquisite caress, my hands clutched in his thick, soft hair... This is so very right, and this doesn't hurt, and--- ---the realization burst over me: and I like this. He rolled me off him gently, stood gracefully, and extended his hand, pulling me up next to him. I went into his arms, was again cradled in that exquisite embrace, held next to that hard, lean body. My mouth opened against his neck, and the smell of him was in my nostrils, all over me...I wanted to rub the scent of him all over me, as animals do, claim him: this one is mine, and I will love him... Lestat's blue eyes slid open lazily, and his hand stroked my cheek. "I would like to love you, Armand---to love you and not hurt you...." The world dissolved in a blossoming of lust, and I let him lift me into his arms, carry me to the bed.... "I promise you, I won't hurt you..." Lestat laid me gently on the bed; I felt the soft mattress compress underneath my weight, felt my head resting on the linen pillow case. I closed my eyes for a moment; the room dipped and spun around me.... Lestat was merely closing the blinds around the room, though, before coming to sit on the side of the bed. "You're afraid, aren't you?" His palm stroked my forehead gently, and his smile, for once, wasn't mocking or derisive. "Yes, I am. I don't like this sort of thing, I---" I stopped talking as he leaned over and kissed me in the center of my forehead. "Go ahead, it's alright to talk here." I watched as he kicked off his splendid boots, let them drop carelessly onto the marble floor. The motion shifted the slender muscles in his legs, brought them into sharp relief... his blond hair spilled around his shoulders when he released the band holding it back. He eased himself onto the bed and lay beside me for an instant, looking up at the ceiling. "Ah, Armand...the two of us here together...what do you make of it, hmmm? Shall we be the traditional enemies or reluctant friends? Shall we engage each other in discourse--" My cheeks burned with shame when he said that, and the memories of my time with Bronwyn flooded into my consciousness. "You have no call to mock me!" I said hotly, and sat up. My heartbeat was accelerating madly, I could scarce hear his soft reply for the sound of it. "I'm not mocking you, cher..." His hand on my shoulder, drawing me down again beside him. "Come talk to me." I reclined on the bed, warily, my entire body tense. When we had shared that kiss, moments ago, I had anticipated...something else... "Yes, but do you recognise the difference, Armand? Between sex and love?" He'd read my thoughts, something Lestat did so easily...it sometimes escalated the tension between us, but now his gently- couched question only made me sad. I felt somehow very *unworthy*, cheap and worthless... I felt as if he were so very much more the gentleman than I, so refined and cultured... "Ha! A gentleman...the very opposite, Armand: a handsome rogue!" Lestat peered at me, his blue eyes very gentle, very concerned. He reached out and turned my face so that he was gazing directly into my eyes now. "And certainly no more than you, cher." That was rather a large admission for the self-aggrandizing Lestat...perhaps he held me in some small regard... He took my hand in both of his, held my white palm sandwiched between his own. His skin was still heated from when he'd fed earlier, and this heat transmitted itself to me, warmed me. I didn't know what to do about this: he was just holding my hand, but it made me acutely uncomfortable, and for one horrible moment, I hovered near the edge of tears.... I made to pull away. "No, cher, let me touch you. Just touch you." His large, well-made hand clasped around my small white fingers, and he drew my hand to his face, opened his mouth. I had no idea what he planned, and so the warm, wet pressure of his lips closing around the tip of my finger was a pleasant shock...now *this* I understood...he would move from this to some other pleasure, and how well I knew what my role would be... But Lestat surprised me. His sapphire gaze bored boldly, but not unkindly into my own as he started sucking the tip of my finger. That was all that he did... but he managed to convey a world of sensation with that one small gesture, his hot, moist mouth encircling my fingertip, his palm against my wrist... I closed my eyes, and I think I might have sighed, for the discomfort was leaving me, and I felt very safe with him. I gave myself up to my musings... I was back again in the monastery, and again, there was singing. I recalled, in this private musing of mine, that I had been bent over my psalter, tracing the letters with my finger, silently forming the shapes of the words with my mouth. I couldn't have been more than seven, or perhaps eight years old...no older, for my swinging feet didn't reach the floor from the bench on which I was seated. "Buggery is an abomination unto the Lord...woe to him who goes in unto a man as unto a woman!" This sonorous pronouncement echoed from somewhere above my left ear and I reflexively crouched lower over my reading. It was Brother Theolonious, one of the senior monks... one of the monks who knew where I'd come from, what I had been reduced to... The back of my neck felt hot, but I didn't look up. This was not the first time that such a scene had occurred... "For I will destroy the Sodomite, saith the Lord..." I writhed with shame, but made myself as small as possible...I barely understood these words! I only knew that I had been in another place before I'd come here, that I had been dressed and painted, and made to dance before crowds of sweaty, laughing men...that after I had performed my dancing, I was expected to--- I hunched my shoulders over my psalter, traced the shape of an illuminated "E" with my forefinger, concentrated on picking out as many different shades of ink as I could find... Still, the withering pronouncement of my shame continued from high above me, it was like listening to the voice of God calling down my condemnation... "For woe shall be unto him whoso hath taken in unto him---" "Brother, what *are* you doing?" That voice, like a whipcrack: I twisted slightly on my bench and saw the tall figure of the abbot, framed in the doorway. "What are you saying?" Brother Thelonious affected an attitude of abject humility, the very figure of it, with downcast eyes, his hands shoved deeply into his voluminous sleeves. "I am merely trying to instruct the boy--to shame him into admitting the sins of his past..." "Leave the boy alone." Thelonious strode away, and the only sound was that of his robe moving around his ankles. "What did he say to you, boy?" The abbot was bending over me. I felt the great shuddering coming up out of my bones, as it always did, taking me in its teeth and shaking me like a dog does a bone...I let it wash over me, having learned by now that it was helpless to resist it, better to let it have me... perhaps this was the punishment of God upon one so vile as I... "Boy? Are you listening to me, boy?" Over and over, I traced that illuminated "E" with my small fingertip, picking out as many different colours as I could find, and there were many, many colours, and it was so very important that I find them all, and the world disappeared as it so often did in that great, concerted roaring of oblivion.... "Armand...? Cher, you're weeping..." Lestat's voice, and his hand on my face, his fingers whisking my tears away. I had begun the shaking again, in the middle of my musings, unaware of it, so very used to it by now... "I'm sorry." I whispered. "Armand...my poor wounded one..." The very words Marius had spoken to me, Lestat spoke them now, and they had the very same effect as they'd had then.... I began weeping quite seriously and could not stop... I couldn't think why the anguish of my mortal existence was all being played out again, or why I should be reliving these horrors with Lestat, of all people... But Lestat seemed to willingly play the part of my saviour, and held me in his arms until it was nigh on daylight. These hours passed in a blissfulness of succour, and when the first gleaming of false dawn played around the edges of the shuttered windows, he gently undressed me and we lay together, waiting for the sleep. "Close your eyes to it, cher, and when you awaken, we will have adventures..." Lestat's soft voice was in my ear, his naked body cradled next to mine, his golden hair brushing my bare skin, so soft...so soft. I felt his teeth gently nip the side of my neck, his hot lips pressed against my flesh, and the attendant pleasure coursed through me like blood. "Take me!" I hissed, waiting for him to do it, certain that had been his aim all along. He kissed the top of my head where it lay cradled against his chest. "Not yet, cher...not yet. Sleep, now." When I swam up out of the death-sleep, I expected that Lestat would have already left the bed, but I was mistaken. All day, my sleep had been fraught with dreams of the monastery, and I wanted nothing more now than a shower and a good meal, in that order. I turned onto my side as the last vestiges of sleep left me, and curled into Lestat's warm, smooth back. He felt the touch of my hand and rolled over, took me again into his arms. "Forgive me, cher...I did not mean to neglect you." His hand slid around the back of my neck, clasped my head gently, and he kissed me: a lingering kiss of infinite tenderness and patience... it must have been the way he kissed Louis... "What about Louis?" I whispered, when he parted his mouth from mine... "Are you going home to Louis?" "Not just yet...you and I are going to have a little holiday, first..." His blue eyes glistened with repressed laughter. "Besides, he and David are...alone. Perhaps---" And he laughed a little bit. "I have to get up, Lestat, I'm very hungry," I said, moving reluctantly out of his embrace. He clutched my forearms and pulled me to him, kissing me again... I heard myself moaning softly with pleasure, then he let me go. I stared at him for a long moment, and he seemed somehow to grow in my estimation, and I was very kindly and tenderly disposed towards him... "What is it, cher?" he prompted, "go on, say it, don't just think it!" I faltered; my mouth opened and no sound came out, and for an instant I wished frantically for an illuminated "E" so that I might have a use for my unwieldy hands... Lestat smoothed my cheek with the back of his knuckles, smiling. "Go on, say it--" "I--" I took a deep breath, filled myself with resolve, "I think I might be...you know, *happy*---I think you make me happy. I think I'm happy now..." I stared at him, wondering how on earth he had done this thing, when the sum of my life previous to this had been a colossal unhappiness. "Thank you." And I was terrified, for a moment, that he had perpetrated some sort of horrible joke upon me, that he was merely making sport at my expense, and when he had tired of me, I would be cast aside, bereft and wounded as always.... "No...not ever." Dark blood-tears trembled on the rims of his sapphire eyes as he pressed gentle lips to my face. "I have been wounded too, you see..." I wanted to say that he hid it well, that he lived out his immortal existence vividly, with flash and glamour, that he did all the things he did with such a largeness of spirit, and how could such a being as he suffer the agonies of soul that I did? How? But he had read my thought, and I needed to say nothing. "Go ready the bath, and I will join you...the night is waiting, Armand...hurry!" When Lestat and I emerged from the quiet of the hotel onto the bustling sidewalks of the town, the sun had been gone for some thirty minutes or so. The air still held the warmth of the day, and here and there, shuttered windows were thrown open to the balmy night. "I am absolutely starving, Lestat; I can't possibly last another second!" I smiled at him hesitantly; our interlude of happiness in the hotel had left a definite residue of well-being in my soul, and I feared to dispel it with a thoughtless word or an ill-timed gesture. "Well then, my darling one, we shall feed!" He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gazed around him, eyes half- closed, like a hound that carefully scents his prey... I realised that watching him prepare for the hunt gave me enormous pleasure, and this caused a happy shock to burst gently in my chest. I realised that I could quite easily fall desperately in love with him, as I had with my beautiful Louis, so long ago... But time to ponder possibilities later...for now, Lestat had sighted an outdoor cafe whose charming, wrought-iron tables still held a few late stragglers: lithe, dark-skinned young men who sipped strong coffee and talked boisterously in their rapid, dialectic Greek. Lestat approached, and I followed, content to play the pupil for a change.... The combination of his bath and his day's rest had restored Lestat to his lean, hungry glory...his sapphire eyes sparkled with vitality, his white skin was set off perfectly by the golden glory of his hair. Tonight, he was wearing soft, loose knee- length shorts of a dark silk, and a baggy t-shirt out of which he'd cut the arms and the neckband. His blond hair was restrained in a ponytail at the base of his neck, and before leaving the hotel, he had patted his slender, fine-boned face with a little cologne. I had attempted to don once again my plain brown trousers and my beige shirt, but Lestat had declared "Forget it, Armand; you look like a refugee in that! Here--" He'd selected something for me, an outfit not unlike his own, with shorts of a pale plaid design and yet another armless shirt, this one in white. I felt positively dishevelled, and I told him this in no uncertain terms. "Don't be ridiculous!" he'd replied, stepping back a pace to regard my appearance with a critical eye. "You look..." His eyebrows twitched upwards a fraction... "...stunning, Armand, I mean--" His eyes had narrowed again, "just gorgeous..." He'd patiently pulled my long, dark-red hair back in a band so that our appearances were quite similar. Of course, I perhaps flatter myself in that assumption, seeing as how my own physique could in no way be compared to Lestat's golden beauty. But these clothes were comfortable, cool, and unconfining, and I thought I might like to walk about for an evening dressed as what Lestat called "a tourist." But I again digress...I beg you to forgive me, and to perhaps indulge me a little in this... the memory of that time in Greece, cradled by the gentle Mediterranean and safe in the affections of my glorious Brat Prince are very dear to me, and I think that I shall never be so happy again.... "Gentlemen, do you mind if my friend and I join you?" Lestat had approached one of the iron tables, and was addressing the seated patrons in as perfect an approximation of their rapid Greek as I'd ever heard. But then, Lestat is very gifted that way, he is able to pick up languages quite easily, and has a very agile tongue...a *very* agile tongue, indeed.... I watched in some amusement as he finagled a seat for both of us at their table and then bought another round of syrupy coffee for us and our new-found friends.... We dispatched them quickly a few moments later, under the guise of my favourite trick, and as we sat there, appearing to be engaged in intimate conversation with our new companions, we drained them absolutely...ah, it was glorious! Such blood, my friend, you would *weep*! From such hard, manly young bodies that had been fed on the fruits of this splendid, unspoiled land, tempered by the gentle caress of soft Mediterranean winds... so sweet, so rich and dark, tinged with the taste of covert sunlight.... Lestat raised his blond head and smiled at me, his lower lip dark with blood. A thread of lust lanced through me, and I leaned over and kissed him lingeringly, taking the last traces of blood from his smooth lips with my tongue... He shifted a little and returned the caress eagerly, his hand coming up to clasp my cheek, his other hand buried in my hair at the back of my neck... When he drew away, he was smiling again, that sated smile that curved his full, sensual mouth into a witchy bow.... "Now what shall we do?" I asked, walking languidly alongside him, through the dwindling crowds. The blood of the young man had filled me nicely, and I felt comfortable and safe, as one inevitably does on a full stomach, and the world was an infinitely nicer place now... "Now?" Lestat whirled around, laughing, and picked me up, holding me in the air. "Now we go *shopping*!" He directed our traverse to a strip of shops that lined the main commercial concourse, brightly-lit in this modern day with gleaming electric bulbs, and having all manner of merchandise displayed. Lestat entered the first shop bearing a wallet full of various plastic credit cards, and proceeded to go a little mad: "Jeans, Armand--what size? You've got long legs, but such a small waist...hmmm, I think a 32 will do--what colours would you like?" And before I could reply, he'd loaded my arms with two pair of black ones, two pair of blue ones, and two pair of faded ones... He then skipped across the floor of the shop (much to the delight of the shopkeeper, a wizened old man with three teeth) and began examining racks of brightly-coloured shirts: "Let me see, my darling...you've got such marvellous dark eyes, but that gorgeous auburn hair... you need bright colours--" He pulled several shirts off the rack and proceeded to pile a rainbow into my already overburdened grasp: he chose dark blue, brilliant purple, emerald green (the colour of Louis's eyes, I recalled, with a pang), and a deep, wine-dark one that was the very colour of fresh blood... All these shirts he piled on top of me, a spectrum of the very softest, very finest silks imaginable... it was quite unlike anything I'd ever seen before... "Lestat, don't you think this is enough?" I tried to voice my protest, but in vain, for he pressed a long white finger to the very centre of my lips and bade me be quiet. "Shush...he's such a little worrier, you know!" This last, addressed to the shopkeeper, elicited an understanding smile and a nodding bow. "Now, my precious, underwear!" I blushed to the roots of my hair...trousers and shirts was one thing, but I was *not* going to stand about in the middle of the shop floor and allow Lestat de Lioncourt to choose my undergarments for me! But trying to disabuse Lestat of an idea is rather like dipping at the ocean with a teaspoon: a futile gesture at best. He pounced upon a large bin overflowing with...(I shall try to put this as delicately as possible)...gentlemen's briefs of all colours, sizes, and...configurations, if you follow me. Lestat again squinted at me and began picking out quite an impressive stack of multi-coloured briefs, with the explanation that "I'm not sure what kind you wear, so I'll get you the same kind as mine, hmmm?" I pointed out to him that colour didn't matter, since they would be seen by no one but me, and my error in judgement was immediately made clear to me when Lestat raised his eyebrow and treated me (in full view of the aged shopkeeper) to a lascivious leer.... But, for some reason that I have chosen not to examine, Lestat's leer wasn't like the leers of those patrons of the brothel... His admiration didn't make me feel cheap or tawdry, and his kisses did not relegate me to the position of mere merchandise... He paid for this mountain of things with one of his many plastic cards, and left the entire lot with the directions that it was to be delivered *immediately* to our hotel room. "Now then, Armand, what next?" I was speechless; I hadn't expected him to buy me anything more... he'd gifted with already with far more than anyone had ever given me in my mortal existence... "Boots? I've seen you admiring those cowboy boots of mine... would you like a pair?" And when I remained silent, he decided, "*Two* pairs!!!" And so it went...by the time Lestat had examined nearly all of the merchandise for sale in these shops, I had accumulated a sizeable mountain of goods... I felt quite pampered and rather undeserving... "I'm not sure you ought to have spent quite so much, Lestat... I mean, I feel rather greedy taking all these gifts...." Lestat stopped walking and looked at me, his head tipped a little to one side... A faint, rather sad smile lingered about his lips, and he brushed my cheek with the back of his knuckles... "You are not comfortable with people giving you things, are you? You think they will expect something from you, something that you cannot give them." I was stunned at the depth of his insight and wondered if he had peered into my thoughts. "How did you...? I mean..." Lestat shook his head slowly, that sad smile still playing about his mouth. "Ah, Armand...we are more alike than you think..." He looked at the ground, as if embarrassed by what he was about to say. "My mother...I mean, Gabrielle...used to give me things, when we were mortal--oh, books and things, she used to smuggle them past my father, my brothers, come quietly into my room late at night, slip them to me... She wanted me to...have them, after everything that had taken place, after I'd been brought home...*again* and..." He sighed, a trembling breath that hovered on the edges of a sob. "...well, there was something in me that *had* to take them, some part of my soul that wanted them so badly, that craved what was between those covers... and there was another part of me that whispered, 'she gives you this to make you behave, to make you the way she would have you'..." He laughed, a sound devoid of mirth but limned with pain... "Any time my mother gave me anything, I felt it was because she wanted something from me, and so every time I took the things she gave I felt I...*prostituted* a little piece of my soul..." The bitterness with which he pronounced the word "prostitute" sent a shudder through me, like cold water down my back. A thick silence grew between us, pressing in upon us like the night, but then Lestat smiled, and the delusion fled... He was himself again. "One more thing, I wish to buy you, dearest---" We went into the swinging door of a silversmith, and I waited while Lestat had him craft me a ring, shining silver like the moon, a wide cuff for my fourth finger, engraved with the never-ending loop that signifies infinity... The silversmith wrapped it lovingly in cotton and placed it into a small box, and Lestat paid him with paper money, adding extra to the cost, for the smith was but a simple man.... When we got outside, he slipped the box into the pocket of his shorts, and I wondered if I'd been mistaken, if perhaps he'd meant the gift for Louis, or for David, and had merely used my finger as a guide... This possibility infused me with embarrassment at my own presumption, and so I remained silent. Lestat led me away from the gleaming lights of the village, and in silence we climbed the low foothills, our easy journey taking us high above the bobbing fishing boats that rode at anchor in the harbour, the low, white buildings of the town. At last, he stopped upon a little knoll and sat underneath a spreading olive tree, the shadow of whose arching branches embraced us both. "Armand--" "Lestat--" We both lapsed into silence. I picked absently at a hangnail on my finger, staring sullenly into my lap...was this magical night to go so very sour, when up till now it had been fantasy itself? "I'm not good at making these sorts of speeches..." Lestat's blue eyes caught and held my own gaze. "...God knows, I chastise David often enough for it!" He laughed shortly, looked away. "You and I have never been the best of friends, Armand; it seems like I could get along with just about anybody, except you." I nodded silently, wondering. It sounded like he was going to leave me... "And there have been times when...well, let's say we two push each other's buttons..." His hand reached out for mine where it rested in my lap; he drew it towards him, clasped it in both of his, kissed my knuckles gently. "...when I may have more in common with you, than with anyone..." The corners of his mouth twitched as he said this, the last word a whisper... he dropped my hand and delved into the pocket of his shorts, pulled out the box containing the silver ring, slipped it on my finger. "Now, I'm not going to ask you to marry me!" He chuckled, and I joined him, grateful for the release of tension. His expression grew more sombre... "But I wanted you to have this...small gift..." He bent and kissed the finger upon which he'd placed the ring... "You and I understand each other's souls, Armand..." I couldn't speak; I was overcome with tender emotion and I drew his face to mine and kissed him deeply, delving into his mouth with my tongue... The desire I had so long repressed leapt to life, a flaming conflagration as I felt his hot tongue flicker against mine... I released him long enough to whisper, "Let's go back to the hotel, Lestat." He nodded mutely, and I repeated the words I'd said to him, so very long ago: "I want you---I want you more than anything I've ever wanted in my life..." Taking his hand, I led him down the hill towards the village... "God *damn* where is the elevator!?" Lestat was fidgeting beside me in the hotel lobby, one foot tapping impatiently. He cast a look at me, raw lust standing in his eyes, flicked a glance at the seemingly-stalled bank of numbers above the door... "God, Armand, I *want* you!" And with that, he seized me in a crushing embrace and kissed me, a deep, hot caress that ripped a trail of fire through the centre of me... I felt his tongue delving into me, felt it catch my own and wrestle with it bluntly, felt his long-fingered hands clasp my buttocks and pull my hips into him... "Lestat, I don't think---" My protestations were silenced with another throat-deep kiss, one of his hands travelling from my backside to the curve of my waist... I closed my eyes and surrendered to the pleasure, submerged myself in that fountain of bliss... the small part of my rational mind that still functioned was whispering that it didn't matter; it was very late, nobody was about now, the lobby nearly deserted... I ran the palms of my hands up underneath his loose shirt, my thumbs flicking his erect nipples, my fingers clutching at the warmth of him... He bent and nipped the side of my neck gently, holding the tender skin between his sharp teeth for an instant, teasing me... Another wave of pleasure rocked me, rising up from my loins and flooding into my belly, my chest, and I wrapped one leg around his. The waistband of his silky shorts rode a little lower, and the exposed planes of his lower belly gleamed in the dim hotel lighting... I gazed at him through slitted eyes, half-mad with lust.... A crowd had begun to gather, unbeknownst to the two of us, and the elevator had come and gone while we'd buried ourselves in each other's delectable flesh... I saw a businessman in a suit staring at us with barely-concealed lust, a valise hanging loosely from his nerveless fingers. I caught his gaze with mine and held it, reached effortlessly into his mind to read his thought... :Look at them: his mind whispered, at my probings, :that blond one...oh, God! And that little red-haired demon...beautiful: I watched him swallow with an effort as I leaned in and traced the smooth, white column of Lestat's throat with the very tip of my tongue... "Armand--" Lestat gasped, clutching me closer... I could feel that hard bulge at his crotch, barely-concealed by the silken fabric of his shorts... His breath stirred the hair at the sides of my face as his hot, pointed tongue traced circles on my neck, dipped briefly into the shallow canal of my ear... I felt his teeth take my earlobe gently, so gently, and nip, and a small gasp escaped me...I wrapped both legs around his waist and clung to him, climbing him like a tree... The warm scent of him rose into my nostrils: blood-sweat mingled with gentlemen's cologne, the deeper, more primal scent of his body.... I ran my palms up the hard muscles of his arms, felt the satisfying bulge of his forearms, his biceps, the hard points of his shoulders... I wanted to take him, right there, with a force that was nearly violence... I turned his face to mine, taking control of him, and pressed his hot, opened lips to mine, traced the silky inside of his bottom lip with my tongue... He groaned softly, and I found myself giggling, of all things, and recovered in that instant all the lost joy of my thwarted youth.... The next elevator car had arrived with a bang, and a ding of the little bell, and Lestat took two steps backward into it, my legs still wrapped around his waist, and slammed his thumb into the "Door Close" button, effectively barring entry to anyone but ourselves. Directly the two heavy doors had come together, he slammed me back against the wall and kissed me violently, his mouth punishing me, the hot palms of his hands crushing my waist... A thin sheen of blood-sweat slicked his forehead, and the smell of it was driving me insane, exciting in me a primal desire: I must have him! I must have him *very* soon or I feared I would not be able to contain myself.... The doors of the elevator banged open and we were out, but every step was an agony of bliss, and I must needs stop him every few paces to kiss him, to press his hard body into mine, to nuzzle the smooth skin of his throat with my lips, my tongue... He willed open the bedroom door and I was on him, tearing that ridiculously-brief shirt from his body and flinging it away... I pressed my face into his chest, buried my lips in his skin, skidded to my knees and pressed my mouth against the flat plane of his lower belly... God, he was magnificent! I clasped his hard buttocks in my hands and traced a circle on his skin with my tongue, just above the swelling erection that thrust impatiently against the front of his diaphanous shorts... I ran my tongue around both the inside and the outside of my lips and then closed my mouth around him, in one smooth movement... I opened my eyes and looked up at him, and one hand tangled in my hair as his upper lip drew back, revealing the very tips of his fang teeth... His blue eyes were glazed with the sheen of preternatural lust, and the hand that was holding my head vibrated slightly... As I watched, the tip of his pink tongue came out, wet his lips, and the long column of his throat rippled as he swallowed... "Armand...get up..." His hands were under my elbows, guiding me to my feet, and then Lestat picked me up in his arms and laid me on the bed. He discarded his shorts next to the t-shirt, kicked off the leather sandals which had so lately clasped his bare feet... His warm body was next to me on the bed, and his hands were gentle as they stripped away my clothes, and then I had to close my eyes, for his silky lips were pressed against my collarbone, the centre of my chest, then each of my nipples in turn... "I just want to love you," he whispered, as his hands slid down my chest, my ribs, encircled my waist. "My beautiful Amadeo..." He called me by my real name, the name I had almost forgotten... I wrapped my bare legs around his waist and pulled that delicious body down on top of me...I clutched him to me and sank my teeth at last, at last into his tender flesh, felt that first gush of his rich, hot blood hit the back of my throat as I lapped it up eagerly, drinking in the essence of him... My strangled cry was lost, buried as I was in his neck, when his sharp teeth took me. I was impaled upon a spike of pleasure, this glorious, singing agony, and everything became his lips, his hands, his body, his scent.... When my ecstasy peaked, I slashed his hard white back with my fingernails, felt his own fingertips in turn dig into me, watched with satisfaction as his grimaced in his bliss, his fine features distorted by the culmination of our lust. I wanted him this way forever.... It was a magical time, but a time that was ethereal and fleeting... We lingered for a while around and about the Mediterranean, but soon, when autumn tugged its chilly grip against our tender skins, we parted. Lestat went back to Louis, and New Orleans, and I...? That is another story. Perhaps I will tell you, sometime soon. The Vampire Armand winter, 1995