The lingering of his gaze is a private pleasure for Armand. Maybe not so private -- the faintest echo of a smile plays about his mouth as he carefully runs the towel over his wet curls. He has rediscovered his vanity over the last century or so; it no longer scares him, to be admired for his body, and he's well aware of how he appears to mortals. The way a bead of water can enthral, when it runs down the curves of a man's belly and onto the subtle weight of his cock in the tight cling of an expensive nylon and spandex blend.

Armand's eyebrows lift a little. He gestures with a wave of his hand to the sun loungers beside the pool, indicating that Daniel can sit down if he wants, a casual declaration of ownership in a space that doesn't actually belong to him.

"Please, go right ahead."