A 70-year-old face scrunched up in pleasure isn't anything to write home about. Charming, maybe, if one is especially smitten. (Sometimes Daniel wonders what the rest of them would look like, aged. Louis with grey hair, pronounced lines on still mostly robust skin, litheness serving him well. Would he end up in glasses? Return to the use of a cane, and poke around with it while doling out sharp wisdom?)
He drags in air just for the pleasure of feeling everything expand. His pulse is frantic still, though slowing from a peak, an indulgent drift down. His eyes blink back open, glassy, dilated, dreamy, and the overdense color they should be, still no trace of his maker. Banished by Louis' affection, maybe.
Daniel feels a little brain-fried by it all, but in a good way. He hopes Louis got something out of it, too, and he kisses him, raising his head to chase it and get more. Soft and sweet, fine, they can do that, but Daniel just wants to keep feeling him. Thinks about the taste of his blood a little, but he's loopy, surely he can be forgiven.
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He drags in air just for the pleasure of feeling everything expand. His pulse is frantic still, though slowing from a peak, an indulgent drift down. His eyes blink back open, glassy, dilated, dreamy, and the overdense color they should be, still no trace of his maker. Banished by Louis' affection, maybe.
Daniel feels a little brain-fried by it all, but in a good way. He hopes Louis got something out of it, too, and he kisses him, raising his head to chase it and get more. Soft and sweet, fine, they can do that, but Daniel just wants to keep feeling him. Thinks about the taste of his blood a little, but he's loopy, surely he can be forgiven.