Fate versus chaos. Maybe they were destined, and the wealthy reclusive vampire he was always meant to meet in San Fransisco was Armand the whole time. Or maybe this is just finding the sweet within bitter, making something worthwhile out of spite. In a hundred years, Daniel might have enough insight to be able to sketch out the skeleton of a story about it.

A hitch of breath at those touches, the contrast between nails and softer. He slides one hand from Armand's face to his shoulder, lower, over his criminally expensive bland t-shirt to the cuff where it breaks into skin. Loops his arm around so it's not squished, and touches him. Exploring like everything, even boring parts like the inches tucked under a shirt sleeve, is hypnotic and worthy of investigation and anointing. Light touch of nails, echoing the sensation he's enjoying, smoothed over with immortal skin.

Also fun: aimless making out. Fucking great, actually.