No desire to dig up bittersweet (or worse) memories and chill the mood; Daniel just can't help being ravenously curious about everything. He laughs into a nuzzle, shivers a bit at the way Louis touches him.

"Making plans," he observes. Louis likes plans. Daniel imagines him with a very detailed, very orderly bullet journal, one clean and organized without any washi tape or cute stickers, in his old lady cursive handwriting. He lets Louis see this fond thought as he sits up, shuffling them to be face to face, and Louis can sit beside him or with legs splayed over him to be half in his lap, whatever he feels like.

Because this goes both ways. Daniel's not just going to lay back and count nuts. He wants to see Louis reach his peak again, hear the way his breath changes, watch his face contort in pleasure. As many times as they each can. Louis had been torn on what position, wanting too many things at once, now he gets it if he wants it now. Daniel kisses him, touches him, loses count. Loses track.

Eventually his phone will ping. He's got a funny (and very loud) alarm an hour or so before sunrise. It's just that he usually loses track of time because he's working, not because he's fooling around.