Deana will open the door and fall into the rainbow rainfall of a euphoric high when her blood begins to leave her. She just wants to know what she'll be like tomorrow. It'll be better than today, better than everything, and it feels so good, so indescribably good to get there, that she's now fully committed. Holding still pliantly as she's fed from, her eyes unfocused, seeing only multicolor clouds and stars as they form the next stage of her existence.

Armand looks incredible. His eyes, his fangs. Daniel gets to watch unabashed— not that he didn't stare before, now and then when he was actually able to observe his maker drinking, but it's different now. Now, he can raise a hand and stroke over the ancient vampire's hair to make sure he can see all points of contact. Now, he can cradle him gently, and silently encourage him to take as much or as little as he likes. They've had the Don't just keep doing more if you don't feel the high right away talk before about the substances Daniel fucks around with, so he trusts him to make an appropriate call on when to stop.

It's erotic. He had thought so before (so long ago?) in Dubai. He'd thought so as he learned to do it himself, though he rarely allowed himself to look at it that way. He has the freedom to, now. It's safe to watch Armand, the flex of his throat as he swallows, the seal of his mouth to the mortal's flesh, and think: it's just fucking beautiful.