Armand is aware he has visited a significant amount of pain onto Daniel. Much of the worst of it, without using his hands or his fangs, but also: his hands insistently stroking the man's face, his hair, violent for what they meant, violent for being unwanted and cruel. It wouldn't be exculpating in the least if he remembered it as a kind of dream, disassociated from his present self.

But worse, he remembers it all with perfect clarity, what he was thinking, how he was feeling. Far different from memories of half a millennia ago. Remembers sweat-greasy curls, the scent of tears and blood, the warm weight of him when he was finally pushed enough to stop fighting.

New memories, now. Associations. Tangled hands. Sleeping on the same mattress, waking to watch the long breaths in and out. A clinging embrace that Daniel had not been cognizant to as his blood was stolen.

Thinks of that now as Armand focuses on the infinitely fine feeling of a pulse beneath his mouth. No bloodlust behind the way it intrigues him, pressing a more deliberate kiss there, hand sliding to push Daniel's sleeve out of the way, thumb following the line of muscle from wrist to midway up towards the elbow.

A rare temptation, to bite. To taste what he can't excavate for himself. Maybe in time. Instead, a following kiss to the meat of Daniel's palm. Eventually, he will have to look up and observe his fledgling's face.