A receiver. Receptive. Collecting Armand's transmission and threading it through the tape player of his mind, hearing shapes and vines and blooms. There's a sex joke in that one too. But it feels sacred right now, and easy; an effortless, impossible cross-section of the two, found right here with Armand resting against him.

Daniel is drawing something on his maker's back. Trying to mimic his favorite sketchy shapes, the ones he thinks look the most satisfying, and that make the nicest scratchy sounds when he's working. He sees patterns on the ceiling, figures getting up to become constellations. It's pleasant. Hypnotic. Relaxing. Will Armand want to sink like this with him again? Will he want to stay, even after this night? Will forever feel this way, at least now and again? It'd be really, really good, if so.

That question is... interesting.

Daniel hums to acknowledge hearing, and gives himself some more of that time in their comfortable pool to consider his answer.

"I don't have any interest in it," he says eventually. "Maybe I'll change my mind someday, like you did. But that potential is so far off I can't see the shape of it."

A touch to the back of Armand's neck, swirling shapes through his hair.

"I like that it's just us."