Nearly a laugh, the shape of his breath, warm against Daniel's skin. That was a good sound to encourage, and he can almost taste the bodily reaction it evoked. Armand is considering doing it again, but—yes, that first, greedy for the intimacy of skin on skin contact. He moves just enough to help encourage the T-shirt off of himself.

Something a little unearthly about the golden tones stubborn in his skin, even under the distant blue light of idle electronics. Something charming and ordinary in the peppering dark hair across his chest. Not much time to appreciate, when the T-shirt is tugged clear of him and Armand lowers his head to bite again.

This time, little pinpricks of pressure, barely enough to draw a smear of blood, but a taste is all he is after for the moment, giving a throaty sound for the sting of copper on his tongue.