Is it new, or just rare? This sense of comfort, being comfortable, this sense of letting his influence leak out beyond the primitive trappings of his physical self, letting it be merely the nexus through which he can connect to his fledgling and be given pleasure. New, he thinks, decides. The drugs. The person. The circumstance.

Armand sighs. Moves only as impulse directs, the lift of his hips back against Daniel's hand, and then back down to rub himself against soft skin, the sympathetic burgeoning hardness nestled against his own. Gravity is replaced by something more magnetic, trapping them together. Pulling Daniel's body against his own, off the ground by fractional degrees.

He has ruined the rug a little. More than a little. Patches have become thin and shabby through threads unravelling, twisting, making shapes and patterns of their shared, imagined garden, if not so artful, just wild, tangled. Daniel can reach out and maybe it feels like a series of invisible hands linking fingers, testing strength.

Armand is stronger, of course, but isn't interested in overpowering, showing off in that way. Just showing, demonstrating the texture of reality that creatures like them can appreciate.