The shock of pain is good, heightening the contrasting pleasure for the interruption, and this time Daniel doesn't have the presence of mind to avoid clawing at Armand. Getting fucking, being bit, his cock moving him, body over him, blood moving like silk over his nerves and veins out into his maker. It slams him into the line of what he thought was as much as he could handle, and then slingshots over it, another realm past human experience.

Pretty fucking cool, might be his eloquent writer's note about it later. Keeping himself from waxing too poetic.

But if there's any transfer of feeling in blood-drinking, now that Armand is doing it with such intent, Daniel can't hide from sentimentality whirling out of ecstatic control. Armand drives him crazy. As comfortable to be around as he is frustrating, fascinating, that lit dynamite word, Daniel sees him sitting cozily and sketching something, he sees him with eyes blazing as he drains someone, he envisions himself reaching out to him in the mist of the kind of horror that should break him and pressing into him for a kiss.

This post-life has been good. He's glad it was Armand.