A deep unspooling and brilliant fireworks of aftershocks, shivers and twitches that go through him, and soft-mouthed kisses as his brain completely whites out. A mess as coordination leaves him, and too-sharp fangs in his mouth, unbidden.

Armand, Armand, Armand. His weight on him still feels good. Daniel still isn't thinking exactly clearly - though it's still done purposefully - when he raises his hand to his mouth to lick it. Bloody, like he's almost gotten used to, which feels free of anxiety in this moment and tastes better than a human's. By miles.

Fuck.

He repeats it, out loud.