[ For a second or two, he gets entirely fixated on the way Claude licks his bottom lip, that nervous gesture that makes him seem all the more appealing. This close, his scent is suddenly very clear, a bright splash of... what? Ralph Lauren? He can't be certain, though he's been exposed to mostly every available big-name branch, attempting to figure out what he wanted for himself, the process that landed him soundly with Armani. It would suit him, wouldn't it. The sport, the competitiveness. And of course - naturally - subtlety in the easiest, most obvious sense, hiding more or less in plain sight. You'd expect something different from, say, the sharp aggressiveness of Hugo Boss. Armani, too, all edges.
When Claude leans in and kisses him, he's almost surprised, just slightly, by the intensity of it. Like he's rushing to make it happen, which - judging by the hardness of his cock, its contours visible between their bodies, probably isn't far from the truth. He takes a second to respond to the feel of his tongue, running along his bottom lip. It surprises him, this eagerness. Then again, with that kind of energy bundled up in every muscle, how could the younger man be any other way? His own fault, for being taken aback.
Usually, the feeling would take away from his own arousal, but for some reason, right now it doesn't really seem to matter much. His blood is definitely rushing south, his body warming up faster now and his cock growing steadfastly harder. And he's not even annoyed, just... well. Just eager to push them both onwards, regain his footing. It's as if Claude doesn't even notice that he lost it in the first place which is just plain absurd, and he pushes the thought away with no further interest. Taking Claude's initiative for what it clearly is, he parts his lips and lets him have this one, tiny, step towards the lead. He slips his hand backwards over the broad muscles of his shoulder, before running his fingers along the length of his spine, the muscles underneath the other man's heated skin working, moving, in time with his breathing. Yes, he's warm to the touch, warm and, for lack of better word, vibrant; as his fingers curve against the back of Claude's neck, he thinks about how easy he could snap it, one move, crack! Nothing but the echo of a falling body and then, silence.
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When Claude leans in and kisses him, he's almost surprised, just slightly, by the intensity of it. Like he's rushing to make it happen, which - judging by the hardness of his cock, its contours visible between their bodies, probably isn't far from the truth. He takes a second to respond to the feel of his tongue, running along his bottom lip. It surprises him, this eagerness. Then again, with that kind of energy bundled up in every muscle, how could the younger man be any other way? His own fault, for being taken aback.
Usually, the feeling would take away from his own arousal, but for some reason, right now it doesn't really seem to matter much. His blood is definitely rushing south, his body warming up faster now and his cock growing steadfastly harder. And he's not even annoyed, just... well. Just eager to push them both onwards, regain his footing. It's as if Claude doesn't even notice that he lost it in the first place which is just plain absurd, and he pushes the thought away with no further interest. Taking Claude's initiative for what it clearly is, he parts his lips and lets him have this one, tiny, step towards the lead. He slips his hand backwards over the broad muscles of his shoulder, before running his fingers along the length of his spine, the muscles underneath the other man's heated skin working, moving, in time with his breathing. Yes, he's warm to the touch, warm and, for lack of better word, vibrant; as his fingers curve against the back of Claude's neck, he thinks about how easy he could snap it, one move, crack! Nothing but the echo of a falling body and then, silence.
It's a nice feeling. Not wanting to. ]