"I was born to Darkness in the midst of a storm.”

Touch | Headcanon | Ficlet

Quite simply put, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of him.

There was something undeniably thrilling in being able to reach out upon waking up, or to venture into the studio and slip up behind Marius, and with a mere lifting of Daniel’s hand, have skin to skin contact. Touch welcomed and unrestricted. He delighted in slipping arms around his companion’s waist and resting his head against his shoulder, in lacing their fingers together, in nestling against his side whether they were walking, or curled up together on the sofa or in bed.

He committed to memory the landscape of the older immortal’s body; the shape of collarbones, the shallows at the bends of elbows, the cool firmness of his chest beneath warmer fingertips and cheek. Daniel particularly relished those times he could coax his lover into a chair and strip him of his shirt to massage his shoulders and back, finding a quiet enjoyment in working the pale, firm flesh beneath his hands and nuzzling his face against the nape of his neck at the activity’s completion.

He’d had never known from night to night all those years ago whether his attempts at physical affections would be welcome or rebuffed by Armand, never been able to perceive a particular way to know whether or not the auburn haired vampire would open his arms in return or push him away. Immortality had not aided Daniel toward that end either, only increased the vehemence Armand would turn him away with when his attentions were unwanted.

Once when he’d persisted, he’d earned a slap for his troubles; and then Daniel had stopped trying, shaken by that as he’d grown to from every strike before it, and instead waited for his maker to initiate such interactions, which came infrequent, and in the end as the distance between them happened, stopped coming at all.

But there were no rebukes, no terse dismissals with Marius, and those gentle caresses the ancient gave to him in return had begun to steadily work like a healing balm to every touch-starved inch of his body, soothed an ache that had buried itself so deep within him that Daniel had at one time reached a point where he could no longer remember when that dull emptiness hadn’t existed, as constant as the slow and steady beat of his own heart.

Unbeknownst to either of them, it was that steadfast physical tenderness, starting with only those initial gentle hands, caring for him for so long even before the voicing of their true feelings, that had perhaps been the truest reason he’d been at last pulled him from his long stupor; each of those undemanding, guiding touches over the years coaxing Daniel from the isolation of his own mind and drawing him out of himself like sunlight unveiled from behind the clouds of a storm.

Armand spoke again silently, a laser beam touching Daniel's brain: Shall we bother with the particulars? You weigh no more than a hundred and thirty pounds now. And the alcohol is eating at your insides. You are half mad. There is almost nothing left in the world that you enjoy. - Queen Of The Damned