They could spend all day doing simply this, and Armand would be content. Maybe they will. It isn't until several minutes pass that it occurs to him that he does want more, and that he could have it if he wanted, and the idea is slow to release him once it takes hold.

Doesn't rush, still. Basking in this attention, for all that basking in attention is an experience not without its baggage. Daniel's attention. Different from anyone else's. Interested, and curious, and borderline permissive and deferential, and that is its own thrill. That diverts blood in his body, and it's pleasing to feel something as mundane as lust stirring in him. Not the first time, no, but the most dedicated, the most obvious.

Aimless making out, long minutes, time slipping past without definition, until Armand shifts. Reorients until he is sitting up, straddling Daniel, a hand planted on his chest, rucked up shirt. In the dimness, his eyes show off bright rings of orange—thin, around black pupils.

"I desire you," he says. Easy and barely conscious to settling on him, an intimate press of weight and warmth. "I have for a while."