[ Claude kisses with a carefulness that's difficult to replicate; Jean Louis doesn't even attempt it, knowing full well that he'd seem dishonest and that's not what he's going for tonight, not by a mile. Instead, he gives Claude another second's worth of control - he's a good kisser, isn't he, he knows full well how this works - before angling his head slightly to the side and deepening the kiss. Pushing his tongue slowly, perhaps a bit assertively, into Claude's mouth, he takes what he's offered, the heat of the other man's mouth rushing directly into his bloodstream, speeding things up exponentially. His cock hardens further, all the way, and as he shifts closer, close enough to align their bodies, he can feel Claude's hard-on more fully against his abdomen. Equally persistent. And needy, too.
So they're definitely in agreement, still.
When Claude runs his hand over his stomach and up, his warm touch leaving his skin feeling almost hyper-sensitive in its wake, his breathing quickens in response, the kiss turning shallow after a few seconds. As he flattens his palm over his nipple, Jean Louis breaks the kiss with a harsh exhalation, the spark of pleasure making him lose his focus momentarily. His hand tightens just a fraction against the back of the other man's neck, eyes narrowing. He's not angry, not even startled, just falling behind or so it seems - and that will never do.
Thus, he pulls back, managing not to break the contact between their bodies in the process, and looks towards the bed. Shifts backwards ever so slightly, though he doesn't actively try to pull or force the other man into following along. After all, with how this night's processing, he clearly doesn't have to. Under other circumstances - normal circumstances, he can't help but think - the thought would have been disappointing, perhaps enough to make him lose his drive. But Claude's not Lisette, he's not Electra (who never did get herself a proper burial with lilies and some ridiculous Coldplay number hammered out on the church organ - stupid bitch) and he's definitely not Daniel either. They're not waging a war tonight, the man's a pacifist if he ever saw one, and the only really surprising, astonishing part of if all is how it doesn't make him seem even the least bit weak. ]
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So they're definitely in agreement, still.
When Claude runs his hand over his stomach and up, his warm touch leaving his skin feeling almost hyper-sensitive in its wake, his breathing quickens in response, the kiss turning shallow after a few seconds. As he flattens his palm over his nipple, Jean Louis breaks the kiss with a harsh exhalation, the spark of pleasure making him lose his focus momentarily. His hand tightens just a fraction against the back of the other man's neck, eyes narrowing. He's not angry, not even startled, just falling behind or so it seems - and that will never do.
Thus, he pulls back, managing not to break the contact between their bodies in the process, and looks towards the bed. Shifts backwards ever so slightly, though he doesn't actively try to pull or force the other man into following along. After all, with how this night's processing, he clearly doesn't have to. Under other circumstances - normal circumstances, he can't help but think - the thought would have been disappointing, perhaps enough to make him lose his drive. But Claude's not Lisette, he's not Electra (who never did get herself a proper burial with lilies and some ridiculous Coldplay number hammered out on the church organ - stupid bitch) and he's definitely not Daniel either. They're not waging a war tonight, the man's a pacifist if he ever saw one, and the only really surprising, astonishing part of if all is how it doesn't make him seem even the least bit weak. ]