"I know," Daniel tells him, hands sliding to the small of his back, absolutely no fear of their compartment capsizing. Even if it did, Armand can fucking fly. "I thought I could feel you. I was just getting impatient."

His head tips back, mouth falling open. "If I started writing about you, I'm not sure I'd ever stop. Biography, fiction, a series of essays... I could go on." He slides his hand into Armand's hair, crowding those growing fangs towards his throat.

"Right now, let me feel your teeth."