He hadn't particularly expected resistance, but its easy lack brings about a flush of pleasure—satisfaction, a kind of floating, detached arousal that can't quite get its hooks in him just yet, and then something soothing. Maybe a mirror of whatever Daniel got out of asking him to stay, his agreement.

They are filthy and Armand doesn't care. Happy for them to smell of each other, of Daniel's blood. Feels his nerves spark eagerly under each stroke of Daniel's nails across his back, craving repetition. Settles in against him, arms insisting themselves around him, a vine-like cling.

He has no plans to cancel. Daniel has been his plans for sometime, now. No impatience in his body to find some other thing, outside the little hobbies (!) he's been encouraged to have. He can go a long time with nothing at all.

A week. A week and a day.