Armand, eager for that bare line of contact, knees to chests, pressing in as urged. It will be gratifying when sleep does take Daniel from him to feel like he might join him there, and if not, enjoy the fucked out relaxation of holding him and listening to him sink into that deep, vulnerable sleep. Long minutes, then, of returning to kissing, friction, the mess they've made between them on their skin, on the sheets.

His hand at Daniel's cheek, thumb stroking along against soft skin, and then around to his chin to force the kiss to break as he pulls back a crucial half-inch.

"Say what you would like," he bids. "And I may give it to you."

Will give it to him, of course. But what's wrong with flirting.