Daniel pulls his arms around him, feeling so strangely needy in a way he hasn't been since he was much younger. Or maybe never before— he finds it too difficult to think of a time that was exactly like this. There's no comparison. This is another life, and Armand is unlike anything, anyone else, for good and ill.

He kisses him with intent, learning the taste of him, what makes him press back the most intently, and he forgets everything about kissing in his life before, even his unlife before. They don't strictly need to breathe, he doesn't have to hope nothing turns sharp in his mouth and give him away; it's different, an endless heated loop of sensation. Armand feels so good on top of him. Dangerous and safe and erotic and sweet. Someone who might hold his hand for hours, someone who might try and keep him in a fucking cage. Either way, forever.

Daniel shifts up to rub against him, then touches his face, his chest, and slips a hand between them to press a hand where he's growing hard. As easy as decades ago, though really, the only thing that had finally made a major dent in his libido had been disease. Still, this too is a little different; blood pressure feels just that little bit more euphoric when you are all blood inside. He hitches them together so it's hard on hard, layers of fabric teasing separation.