A day ago, Daniel would say he'd never offer. He'd balk at it like he balked at Armand back outside of the house he'd been touring, no matter how curious he might have felt. An hour ago, he would want to, but still maybe he wouldn't— just to be fucking respectful and try not to make it weird.

But that's out the window, because he feels incredible, and hesitation has been stripped away and the most annoying facet of his personality, the fearless hedonist part, just thinks: well of course he should offer, it doesn't matter how fucking dangerous Armand is or how this might twist things up between them, it would simply be crazy to withhold.

Armand's hand on his face, fingers practically in his fucking mouth. He tastes his blood still. He could take more, he could take it forever.

He tilts his head back in a plain offer. His own hand is still at his maker's side.

"Come on."

Been in Daniel's apartment before, been in Daniel's throat before. This time he's asking for it. Come on.