A shaky breath out for the feeling of Daniel trying to adjust to him, the wandering up of his knee and scrabble of hands, a long breath in. Feels powerful for it, allows himself to enjoy the feeling, even though Armand is certain he is moments away from his own scrabbly sense of desperation. That it's probably already visible in his expression.

"It's just," he starts, panting already. Trying again. "It's just bodies, Mr. Molloy." A gleam of teeth, and maybe his canines are sharper now. Drawing back, pushing in, still adapting. "Just blood, just. Friction, and tension. Just neurochemistry, electricity."

Does he believe that? Probably he has, previously. He hasn't said Mr. Molloy since, when, possibly Dubai? Maybe a sarcastic echo later on.

It shouldn't feel like distancing. Not when he is beginning to fuck him this way, and his hand catches desperately at Daniel's hip, and his eyes are as bright as hearth coals. Teasing, perhaps. Challenging, even now. Being insane, as standard.

Fuck Daniel feels incredible. Made to be fucked by him, even.