Being admired is new-old; something he's experienced before, but not in a long time. It makes Armand feel all the more singular. No one else is looking at him this way. No one else has a gaze that melts over him, scouring and caressing.
"I recall the first time I got really, really sunburned," he says, laying back to let his maker get his obscene fill. Daniel draws his hand up to his mouth, and licks the pomegranate-colored mess from them, and it makes his eyes shift, makes his cock twitch. "I moved to Los Angeles, after San Fransisco. July. Venice Beach, sitting in between the bodybuilder yard and the volleyball posts. Everyone was sweating, baking, it felt like needles all over my skin, I just had this shitty baseball cap and sunblock that had sweated off in ten minutes, hours behind me. I had burns," he moves his hand, down over his own chest, indicating some slutty, awful, early 1980s v-neck, "all the way down here, and here," lower, the top of his thigh, he must have been in sports shorts, or trunks, or raggedy cut-off jeans. "That's what the sun feels like, right? Do you sweat still, in the sun?"
Fingers trace what he can reach of Armand's chest, between his pectoral muscles, conjuring thoughts of rivulets of sweat, pink-tinted, shining.
Daniel speaks. It feels sensory, even this, just a story. Still pleasantly high, vaguely synaesthesic for it. Armand lets his eyes wander, tracks the journey of sticky fingertips to mouth.
"Yes," he answers.
Armand feels out curves, dips, textures across Daniel's chest in return, down the centre of him. The highest of the high has been journeyed over, but some of it lingers, remains, and it only takes a little bit of intentional thoughtlessness to feel something like ash lifting off his touches as he goes. Coloured chalk. Pencil dust.
"I don't stay in it for long," he adds. "Relatively. An hour, two hours, and I can feel it. A sensitivity. Needles."
His fingers travel to Daniel's cock, stroking along the underside it volunteers. A gently applied itch of nails.
Armand in the sun, the summer head of Daniel's memories (what a thing, putting him in more memories) in a flimsy white t-shirt, fraying cut-off denim shorts that would be too short by today's prudish fashion standards, everything made half-transparent by sweat. A nice thing to picture.
Nicer, the teasing attention to his arousal, which makes him hiss. Ah, it's good, though.
"Do you like it?"
Sensitivity. Needles. The itch of nails. The initial poke of teeth.
Armand gives Daniel the flat of his palm, a luxurious spread of warmth compared to light fingertips, but then also sets the tip of a nail somewhere sensitive, enough to bring a speck of blood to the surface. Hands go firm immediately, a pinning lean through the heel of his hand at the centre of Daniel's chest, the other wrapping fingers around his cock. Smear of bright red.
Colours. "I tested it about thirty years ago or so. I spent a day on a white beach by the Aegean Sea, watching the sky and the water, sometimes the people. By the time the sun went down," strokes Daniel long, slow, tight, "I couldn't feel anything. Numb all over, half-blind, thirsty."
Chooses not to relay what came next. What Arun needed of Louis that night.
Armand looms over him, even as they just lay there together, like he's a unique moth being pinned. Free of thoughts like This shouldn't be interesting, it is what it is, with no second-guessing, and Daniel stares up at him with an expression that's startled, but awed. His blood, fresh, in with all else, and wants to bite Armand. He wants to fuck him. He wants to lay right here and watch pinwheels of colors, forever.
"Did it feel better than it had in years?" A light squirm, flex of his hands. They find Armand's arms, his sides, trailing, like he's drawing a touch over water's surface, making ripples. "Like sinking into cold glass? I think about—"
Pauses, to just feel.
"... That walk with you, after the diner. All the time."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"I recall the first time I got really, really sunburned," he says, laying back to let his maker get his obscene fill. Daniel draws his hand up to his mouth, and licks the pomegranate-colored mess from them, and it makes his eyes shift, makes his cock twitch. "I moved to Los Angeles, after San Fransisco. July. Venice Beach, sitting in between the bodybuilder yard and the volleyball posts. Everyone was sweating, baking, it felt like needles all over my skin, I just had this shitty baseball cap and sunblock that had sweated off in ten minutes, hours behind me. I had burns," he moves his hand, down over his own chest, indicating some slutty, awful, early 1980s v-neck, "all the way down here, and here," lower, the top of his thigh, he must have been in sports shorts, or trunks, or raggedy cut-off jeans. "That's what the sun feels like, right? Do you sweat still, in the sun?"
Fingers trace what he can reach of Armand's chest, between his pectoral muscles, conjuring thoughts of rivulets of sweat, pink-tinted, shining.
no subject
"Yes," he answers.
Armand feels out curves, dips, textures across Daniel's chest in return, down the centre of him. The highest of the high has been journeyed over, but some of it lingers, remains, and it only takes a little bit of intentional thoughtlessness to feel something like ash lifting off his touches as he goes. Coloured chalk. Pencil dust.
"I don't stay in it for long," he adds. "Relatively. An hour, two hours, and I can feel it. A sensitivity. Needles."
His fingers travel to Daniel's cock, stroking along the underside it volunteers. A gently applied itch of nails.
no subject
Nicer, the teasing attention to his arousal, which makes him hiss. Ah, it's good, though.
"Do you like it?"
Sensitivity. Needles. The itch of nails. The initial poke of teeth.
no subject
Armand gives Daniel the flat of his palm, a luxurious spread of warmth compared to light fingertips, but then also sets the tip of a nail somewhere sensitive, enough to bring a speck of blood to the surface. Hands go firm immediately, a pinning lean through the heel of his hand at the centre of Daniel's chest, the other wrapping fingers around his cock. Smear of bright red.
Colours. "I tested it about thirty years ago or so. I spent a day on a white beach by the Aegean Sea, watching the sky and the water, sometimes the people. By the time the sun went down," strokes Daniel long, slow, tight, "I couldn't feel anything. Numb all over, half-blind, thirsty."
Chooses not to relay what came next. What Arun needed of Louis that night.
"The night felt good."
no subject
Armand looms over him, even as they just lay there together, like he's a unique moth being pinned. Free of thoughts like This shouldn't be interesting, it is what it is, with no second-guessing, and Daniel stares up at him with an expression that's startled, but awed. His blood, fresh, in with all else, and wants to bite Armand. He wants to fuck him. He wants to lay right here and watch pinwheels of colors, forever.
"Did it feel better than it had in years?" A light squirm, flex of his hands. They find Armand's arms, his sides, trailing, like he's drawing a touch over water's surface, making ripples. "Like sinking into cold glass? I think about—"
Pauses, to just feel.
"... That walk with you, after the diner. All the time."
Colors.