Chapter Text
“In high school, you told a girl you'd only do her if she had a paper bag over her head. She agreed and you did it even as she cried. A splinter of coldness in you? Is that what makes you fascinating?”
Armand prowled the kitchen like a shadow, his eyes sweeping over the carefully curated details Louis had arranged to charm his unsuspecting prey. The faint scent of stale groceries lingered, a testament to the small performances Louis staged to make the apartment feel lived-in, safe. Armand’s fingers brushed along the edge of the counter, lingering until they closed around his prize: a crisp brown bag, left casually from some ordinary grocery trip. Ordinary for Louis, meaningless to anyone else, but to Armand, it was perfect. A small, innocuous thing, a key hidden in plain sight. Tonight, it would serve its purpose, and Armand’s patience would be rewarded.
Even the boy’s transgressions were ordinary. Small, predictable, unworthy of attention. Armand could do better than that. He didn’t settle for the mundane. He could be fascinating.
Armand had overindulged while Louis droned on about Lestat, drinking more blood in one night than he had in months. The fullness had been easy to ignore amid the chaos of the evening, but now it demanded attention. At first, it was a dull pressure, a whisper of discomfort at the base of his bladder, but that whisper sharpened with every movement, every subtle shift in his body. The urgency coiled tighter, a taut rope straining against him, insistent and relentless.
And yet, even as his body begged for release, his eyes stayed on the boy. Every glance, every motion sent jolts of awareness through him, mingling desire with discomfort, sharpening his focus. The need in his body mirrored the hunger in his mind: acute, consuming, impossible to ignore. He was overfilled, taut and trembling, every nerve alive, but the ache only heightened the fascination, the dark anticipation of what he intended to do next.
Armand pressed the paper bag over the boy’s head, the thin paper whispering against his skin. The fear radiating from him was immediate, hot, and frantic, but beneath it, sharper, more desperate, was the boy’s longing to see the creature’s face, to meet the eyes that held him captive. Every quickened breath, every futile shift of hands against the bag, sent a thrill through Armand. He could feel the boy’s panic coil tighter with each passing second, the helpless, breathless frustration sharpening the tension between them. It was intoxicating, this delicious control, and Armand savored it. He let the silence and the boy’s restrained terror stretch until it nearly ached.
He held the human before him like a captive toy, knees pressed to the floor, arms trapped at his sides. The subtle rasp of Armand unzipping his pants sent a shock through the boy, sharp and unwelcome, twisting panic with an undeniable, illicit longing. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t name it, but he wanted him. Wanted whatever the monster would give, even as every rational thought screamed to resist. The need to please, to earn some shadowed approval, burned hotter than fear itself, curling tight in his chest and throat. Every muscle trembled, every breath came shallow, caught between dread and the pull of something dark, something impossible to deny. Armand’s control wrapped around him like smoke, intoxicating and suffocating, leaving the boy suspended in a razor-edged tension that made every second unbearable and exquisite.
Armand freed his cock from his trousers, the tight coil of discomfort in his body easing as the promise of release surged forward. The boy knelt beneath the bag, trembling, unaware of the exact nature of what was coming, yet utterly caught in the web of Armand’s control. Armand’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, savoring the mix of fear, anticipation, and desperate submission. Then, with deliberate precision, aimed at the human’s paper-covered face, he let go. The act a brutal assertion of dominance, a dark culmination that left the boy shivering beneath the thin barrier of paper and Armand tasting the intoxicating edge of power and satisfaction.
Piss trickled down the sides, soaking into the fibers with a slow, relentless hunger. Dark patches bloomed across the surface, the paper curling and wrinkling as it drank in the moisture. The once-rigid bag sags, pressing unevenly against his skin. The boy is trembling with every shallow breath. The seams strain, the bottom drooping like wet cloth, each slight movement sends a wet, muffled crinkle echoing around the hollow space inside. The air grows thick with the smell of soaked paper as the fibers swell and weaken, clinging damply to his face, almost pulpy to the touch. It teeters between structure and collapse, a fragile shroud that quivers under the lightest pressure, its weight and wetness a constant, intimate reminder of how utterly it has surrendered.
Armand delved into the boy’s mind, expecting to find revulsion or panic. But there was none of that. The boy simply wanted. Wanted to breathe, wanted to obey, and most of all, wanted him. The clarity of that desire, so raw and unguarded, caught Armand off guard. Perhaps it was…fascinating. Perhaps, it stirred something in him too. A hunger not just for control, but for the boy who wanted him so completely.
He wasn’t ready to be seen so exposed. Instead, he grabbed the boy by the cheeks, the damp bag clinging to his skin like a second layer, soft and resistant. His claws sank into the wet, pulpy paper, scraping it against the boy’s lips and teeth, sending shivers of shock and anticipation through him. The boy’s mouth parted instinctively, tongue pressing forward, tasting the strange resistance of the soggy bag, his body betraying a need he barely understood. Every subtle movement, the tug of paper, the pressure of Armand’s claws, the wet friction, sent sparks of tension twisting through them both, a charged, unspoken dialogue of fear, desire, and control.
The heady mix of power and desire coiled tight inside Armand, pulling him to full arousal. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the boy, whose own body betrayed him, straining against the confines of tight pants, hardened and insistent, mirroring the rigid hunger that throbbed through Armand. Every subtle shift, every flush of muscle beneath fabric, every quickened breath, made the predator in him pulse with dark satisfaction. The boy wanted him, completely and without pretense, and that want only deepened the intoxication.
He guided his still-dripping cock between the boy’s lips, drawing a low, instinctive moan from the human kneeling before him. Without warning, he pushed all the way to the hilt, testing limits that the boy, forged by survival, met with near-perfect control. The gag was minimal, almost imperceptible, a testament to the countless times he had endured such acts. And yet, even amid the dominance and dark desire, Armand felt a flicker of something unexpected, recognition, a pang of compassion for this mortal who had navigated the world with such tenacity, whose body and mind had adapted so completely to survive. He knew that feeling well. He had walked that same line countless times, and in that brief, human spark, he glimpsed a reflection of himself.
Armand began to pull away, a surge of disgust flaring at what he was doing to the boy. But the boy’s thoughts were relentless, deafening in their clarity. He wanted Armand to continue. Wanted to be used, to be filled, to be consumed. The need radiating from him pressed against Armand’s mind, sharp and unyielding, tugging at something he had long buried. Every instinct screamed to step back, yet the boy’s raw, unfiltered hunger held him fast, a magnetic pull that made resistance almost impossible. The collision of revulsion, fascination, and desire coiled tight inside Armand, leaving him suspended in a dark, intoxicating tension that thrummed through every nerve.
Armand released his psychic hold on the boy and the human clung instinctively to the vampire’s legs. He pressed into him as if seeking to anchor himself against the storm of sensation. Armand drove deep into his throat, every thrust sending shivers through both of them, a fierce, consuming rhythm of control and surrender. Heat coiled tight in Armand, the intoxication of dominance and raw pleasure pulsing through him with every movement. The boy’s body reacted on instinct. He rutted against his leg, trembling, breathing shallow and fast, muscles taut beneath the fabric of his pants. Each reaction feeding the dark, electric tension between them. When Armand finally pulled free, his release painted the paper bag covering the boy’s face with warm, pink-tinted cum, a mark of their shared, savage intimacy, leaving both predator and prey suspended in the aftermath of overwhelming, unrestrained desire.
After Armand recovered, he commanded the boy to “rest,” and with a thought, sent him crumpling unconscious to the floor. He removed the bag from his head completely and noticed that the boy was quite beautiful. Lifting him, Armand felt the startling frailty of the human in his arms, the trembling body made all the more vulnerable by the aftermath of their shared frenzy. The boy’s own release lingered, clinging to his pants, a hot pulse that reminded him of the dangerous intimacy they had shared. He carried the boy to the bathroom, cleaning him with precise, almost reverent care, each movement deliberate, each touch a quiet assertion of control. Finally, he laid him on the couch, letting the human sink into a brief, fleeting comfort. The fragility of the moment pressed in on Armand, a stark reminder that this tenderness was only temporary, that soon, he would have to extinguish the life he had just so intimately possessed. The contrast between care and impending violence hummed through the room, sharp and suffocating, making the silence almost unbearable.