The answer rises like smoke before Louis verbalizes it: the lovely wood nightstand, top drawer, glass jar.

Says, "Yes."

Says, "Let me..."

Trails into implication, already sinking back into Daniel, already catching his mouth for another kiss.

Daniel is not obliged to retrieve anything from the specified drawer. Louis is already coming up off the mattress, crowding into Daniel as he kisses him. Hands bracketing Daniel's face, curling into his hair, heels of his palms at Daniel's temples as he creates some minor space in which he might move.

Terrible, having to let go of Daniel even by halves, even for a moment. But Louis stretches out, hooks open the drawer. Does not think of Armand. Does not think of what he is studiously ignoring: no one has touched him at all since he and Lestat parted ways, resolved to attempt standing on their own.

Transparently expensive, Louis' choice in lube. Just as all the product in Dubai had been expensive, all things betraying the casual flex of wealth Louis has come to appreciate, find security in. He presses the jar into Daniel's chest.

Noses back up along Daniel's jawline, yielding Daniel's mouth for whatever commentary is sure to follow.