He'd thought of sex, probably, in a general sense if not a specific act. Still a part of him that anticipates this desire in others, lessons learned young, reinforced over and over and over. The odd distance that had settled between himself and Louis, at times, broken by sex. And he likes it, fucking, so it's not exactly a burden, meeting need with need, want with want.

But Daniel touches his feet, keeps a hand on him, both of them half-huddled on the rug, and Armand has to remember the long moments they've spent touching that had little to do with any of that, even if it becomes it, or comes after. Laying against Daniel, fingers playing where his hair gets finer at the base of his neck.

And now this. He watches Daniel's hands with hooded eyes, head tipped. Not weird, not too weird. He thinks he can feel every fine little mammalian hair reach up to greet him. Electric.

Shifts a leg, encouraging that journey, after a glance of assent.