Hands at Armand's sides, one sliding low on his hip, the arch of the joint, following it, thumb sliding along the vee between his hips. Stopping low, but stopping. It's dark in here, but there are enough pinpoints of it from this small source or that, and Armand is still illuminated. Draped in deep velvet colors and outlines of amber light, centered around the hypnotic glow of brilliantly inhuman eyes.

Okay—

Don't say 'okay', that's weird, though the plainness of what Armand tells him makes arousal spark through him. He squeezes his hips, presses in against the meat of his muscles with slow pressure of fingertips.

"What have you been thinking about, specifically?"

As tempting as the idea of just going with instinct is, Don't kill the mood, Daniel needs to know. If Armand tries calling him 'maitre', he's kicking him out and they get to work on rebuilding from this, to.