Hello all! Here's a (very) short fic i recently wrote in honor of Armand appreciation week. Enjoy & comment!
~Anne


The night had begun three hours ago, but he still lay there, refusing to open his brown eyes, refusing to believe what had happened the night before. His entire world had come crashing down…again. Only this time it wasn’t the wretched Brat Prince Lestat who had done it. No, it had not been that beautiful, blond-haired, blue-eyed immortal who had denied his beloved Benji and Sybelle the chance to live out their mortal lives. It would have made things too easy if it had – too easy to dish out a new batch of hatred for the most powerful, and the most reckless blood drinker he knew.
The dark eyelashes began to flutter as he struggled to keep his eyes closed. Don’t do it. Don’t wake and hear the piano, it is not the same.
But his mind could not resist the lure of the music. Sybelle’s now supernatural fingers made the piano scream for him to awaken with the softest notes of the Apassionata. Blood tears were already forming behind his closed eyes as he acknowledged that he would never hear the mortal Sybelle’s Appasionata again.
The first tear streamed down the side of his face. By the time he opened his eyes, the tear had already dried and flaked away into red glitter on his cheek. He brushed aside his auburn hair and sat up in the heavily draped bed.
Sybelle began the second movement.
His young eyes, not made to handle the tears of such strong emotion, began to overflow with tears. Soon, his boyish face was marked by red streaks.
“Leave me,” he said softly in the darkness.
The heavy velvet drapes opened just enough to let the silhouette of a tall man seep through. At least, that’s what it would look like to a mortal man. But Armand needed no more light to see the handsome face of his Master looking down on him through clear blue eyes.
“Leave me,” Armand repeated.
But his Master did not. His face shifted from its usual neutrality into complete sorrow. The light eyebrows of his Master’s smooth forehead came slightly together and his mouth opened as if he would speak…if he could only find the right words. He was the perfect picture of hurt, with one or two lines appearing just in time to make him look somewhat mortal.
Armand nodded desolately. “Master…” he sighed.
Marius slowly lowered himself onto the bed and embraced his fledgling.
Armand wanted to strike him. He wanted to hit the living statue that held him so lovingly.
Restraining his impulse, he tried to push Marius away, but only found himself more firmly embrace by his maker.
Then, without warning, Marius turned up Armand’s face, and gently brushed away the soft auburn curls that surrounded it. And with his cold, white thumb, rubbed away the remnants of tears left on the rounded cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Marius whispered so softly Armand himself was not even sure he heard it. Marius then kissed Armand as he had not done in over 300 years. Armand let himself be taken into this temporary bliss and fell limp in his Master’s arms, accepting the small stream of blood that flowed from Marius’s mouth into his own.
The piano was still playing when Marius finally pulled away. But when Armand opened his eyes, all he saw was the rustle of the slightly opened curtains that surrounded the bed. Then he heard the decisive click of the door as Marius left the room. Armand didn’t have to look to know that the beautiful brown-haired Pandora was waiting outside.
Finally mustering enough resolve, Armand lifted himself off the bed and put on a blue button down shirt with tailor-fit jeans. He quickly shook out his hair and tied it back, one wavy lock dislodging itself from the rest to fall against his white face. Then, taking a deep breath his body didn’t need, he exited the room.
The Apassionata being finished, Sybelle had stopped her assault on the piano. Marius stood over her comparatively small figure on the piano bench. Dressed in black pants and shirt, with his red velvet blazer, Marius looked much like the teacher Armand remembered from all those years ago.
Marius turned to look soulfully at Armand as he entered the grand living room. His lips lifted to reveal a small smile when he saw Armand’s blue shirt. Blue…it was the color he had chosen to be Armand’s.
“Amadeo…” Marius sighed.
No one heard it except Armand.