There it is, again. That thing that hooked in him the first time he drank from Daniel like this, only amplified. Love is not the word he is looking for, he has started to feel doubtful for its efficacy, having involved himself in more love stories than he'd ever cared to experience. Having been told he is loved before.

No, this is different, more specific. Addicting, addiction. Sentiment and lust together, something in Daniel that craves something more vital in Armand than just Armand's behaviours, his abilities, his tasks, his duties. Presentations, personas, names, faces. Down, down, to where he had felt there was nothing.

How it hurt, to feel each thing torn aside, and so ruthlessly. How good it feels.

Blood runs, escaping past his teeth, streaking down Daniel's neck, into his hair, over his shoulder, on his sheets. Vampire skin will knit itself together, and Armand kisses away the excess as if he would prefer to bathe in it. Hot panting against Daniel's cheek, in the moment he resumes fucking him, his breath shaking.