[ They're gasping into each other's mouths at this point, panting away and Claude feels slightly light-headed, like he's just survived a particularly tough rehearsal, full-scale Swan Lake or something of a similar technical demand. Their bodies have become aligned, chest against chest, Claude's hand caught somewhere in between, and lower body against lower body, their cocks two parallels up their stomachs. Fuck. His breath is a shaky affair right now. When Jean Louis draws away, Claude almost wants to whimper, but doesn't, mostly by sheer fucking will. The other man casts a look towards the bed and starts backing towards it, somehow not really pulling on Claude to follow, Claude just does... Takes the lead, in the sense of allowing Jean Louis to lead him where he wants them to go, because it's where Claude wants to go, too. The bed? Sounds good to him, sounds very, very good. Perfect. Bloody amazing.
There's a weird discrepancy to Jean Louis like this, pulling him along without actively pulling and there's a moment where all Claude can think is demagogue, the seducer of the public, because all politicians are and from what he's been able to pick up on the Luxembourgian political stage, Jean Louis especially. It's not a thought he really holds on to, it's not particularly welcome right now, but the image remains at the back of his head, that he's now the public that Jean Louis Girard is seducing. That he's doing so very easily. Not that it matters, what matters is how Claude's cock is bumping lightly against the warm skin of Jean Louis' stomach, a gentle tap, tap, tap which makes his breath catch. All that matters is the intense look in Jean Louis eyes, mixed with an unusual calmness, the way it's so obvious that they want each other, that it's mutual, that they're equal. They're equal in wanting each other, now, here.
So he waits until the back of Jean Louis' legs meet the edge of the bed before he leans in again, leans up, because Jean Louis is still slightly taller than him, they're talking centimeters, and presses his mouth, open and heaving, against the side of the other man's neck. It's not a bite, but there's the definite scraping of teeth, the softness of lips, the wetness of tongue. All together now. His hand falls away from Jean Louis' chest, runs up to his shoulder, holds on for dear life. ]
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There's a weird discrepancy to Jean Louis like this, pulling him along without actively pulling and there's a moment where all Claude can think is demagogue, the seducer of the public, because all politicians are and from what he's been able to pick up on the Luxembourgian political stage, Jean Louis especially. It's not a thought he really holds on to, it's not particularly welcome right now, but the image remains at the back of his head, that he's now the public that Jean Louis Girard is seducing. That he's doing so very easily. Not that it matters, what matters is how Claude's cock is bumping lightly against the warm skin of Jean Louis' stomach, a gentle tap, tap, tap which makes his breath catch. All that matters is the intense look in Jean Louis eyes, mixed with an unusual calmness, the way it's so obvious that they want each other, that it's mutual, that they're equal. They're equal in wanting each other, now, here.
So he waits until the back of Jean Louis' legs meet the edge of the bed before he leans in again, leans up, because Jean Louis is still slightly taller than him, they're talking centimeters, and presses his mouth, open and heaving, against the side of the other man's neck. It's not a bite, but there's the definite scraping of teeth, the softness of lips, the wetness of tongue. All together now. His hand falls away from Jean Louis' chest, runs up to his shoulder, holds on for dear life. ]