This sounds correct, more true. Maybe Daniel would have tried to run if he were wired differently, during his last moments alive. Maybe Daniel knew better than to even try, but that isn't really how it works. A human kneels off the side of a bridge and, while plummeting, squirms in the air, grasps at it in a panic.
And maybe vampiric death is different, the kinds of promises Armand makes, the kinds of mental states he can coax a mind into, but none of that occurred in the Dubai penthouse. Just fire, fangs, a sense of wishing to see the thing that happens next.
A compass that points to danger. Points to Armand.
He moves to press now naked bodies together, the subtle misalignment of proportions just encouraging movement. He is not actually desperately hard or anything, but not disinterested, blood flow coaxing him along slowly, the way petals turn or leaves rise. Around them, the remnants of their clothing settle and collapse, strange unmade shreds, stray buttons, the last shivers of motion writhing snake-like until they go still.
"Spook, then," is his belated amendment to his statement. Writers.
He kisses Daniel, not a sudden clash but a swift rise in pressure, intimacy, intention. He feels a little like they could just wriggle together in this strangely sensitive state of sharing and find some kind of conclusion that way, but he also wants this. Wants the friction of coarse hair, the neutral tang of saliva and the glossy bite of fangs against tongue. Wants all those base physical things. Wants to be greedy.
no subject
And maybe vampiric death is different, the kinds of promises Armand makes, the kinds of mental states he can coax a mind into, but none of that occurred in the Dubai penthouse. Just fire, fangs, a sense of wishing to see the thing that happens next.
A compass that points to danger. Points to Armand.
He moves to press now naked bodies together, the subtle misalignment of proportions just encouraging movement. He is not actually desperately hard or anything, but not disinterested, blood flow coaxing him along slowly, the way petals turn or leaves rise. Around them, the remnants of their clothing settle and collapse, strange unmade shreds, stray buttons, the last shivers of motion writhing snake-like until they go still.
"Spook, then," is his belated amendment to his statement. Writers.
He kisses Daniel, not a sudden clash but a swift rise in pressure, intimacy, intention. He feels a little like they could just wriggle together in this strangely sensitive state of sharing and find some kind of conclusion that way, but he also wants this. Wants the friction of coarse hair, the neutral tang of saliva and the glossy bite of fangs against tongue. Wants all those base physical things. Wants to be greedy.