They lay in a wreckage of bald carpet and tangled thready weeds of mixed colours, and slowly, Armand's invisible grasp of his surroundings slowly retracts. He is a more ordinary weight on top of Daniel. He shivers in his own skin, feeling sweat and come and blood and friction and slickness.

But not out of tune with the sublime. No sudden hit of sobriety. Focus, maybe, lifting his head to look down at Daniel, let out a heavy breath at the sight of him with a bloodied mouth and long fangs and orange eyes. Daniel, who he likes to draw because he is handsome, because his body is aged in a pleasing way, because he wants to capture in some external way the way he sees him.

He captures Daniel's jaw with a hand, a gentle but firm bracket of force. Wandering a thumb over his chin. Judging his current state.