For a second, it all makes sense: they can't read each other's minds because it's the same mind. Their hearts beat in time because it's the same blood. Daniel doesn't want him to stop, Daniel wants him to stop so he can do the same thing to Armand, he wants to come, he wants this to go on for-fucking-ever.

He squeezes their joined hands, pulls them back so Armand is pressing down and pinning him there by his head, holding on. He pushes into the kiss, tasting his own blood, tasting Armand, and the only thing that keeps teeth from growing too-sharp is the knowledge that Armand isn't receptive. That's his right, Daniel thinks; boundaries, all that shit. His maker. Daniel said It's yours, and he meant it. Anything, everything.

"Can I touch you?" he pants, against his mouth, other hand grasping at his side and his hip, pressing between them. He thinks Armand is going to say yes, that if asking at every step needed to be a thing then Armand would have done so before sucking his cock into his mouth or biting him, but he doesn't think he has any blood left in his brain. "Can I, can I—" begging, even fingers splay out to cradle Armand's erection, desperate to feel him even if not for long. Electric, right on the edge.