[ Claude shifts closer, aligning their bodies completely and leaving their fronts touching from shoulders to toes. And of course everything in between, too. If he were to angle his hips just so, they'd basically be frotting; the thought, in turn, makes him feel slightly light-headed. The other man leans in and kisses him again, his intentions clearly double if the fumbling of his hand somewhere behind Jean Louis' shoulder is any inclination, and for just a second - maybe even just a half - he's alert again, uselessly so, for Claude's certainly, surely not pulling a knife or a gun out of that drawer. It's just a natural response, survival of the fittest, they say, and in that respect at least, he's always been fitter than most.
Though it shouldn't take a genius to figure out that Claude's clearly getting condoms, he hears it before he truly gets it; the sound of Claude's fingers, closing around the two wrappers, the rustling of plastic suddenly louder than the blood, rushing through his head. The feeling dissipates fast, it's nothing important, nothing worth noting, but right then - of course, he was prepared. Just in case. He breathes in slowly, Claude's scent bright and warm in the mix of oxygen and arousal. The feel of their noses bumping is amusing in its own right, yet another perfectly fitted piece, and he smiles slowly, his mood balancing out. He doesn't know how or why. It just does.
When Claude presses the condom into his hand, he knows exactly what he wants to do with it. Drawing back (and away from Claude's tongue tracing his lip - such a shame) enough to leave him room to move his hands, he tears the package open, draws out the condom and flicks the wrapper over one shoulder, into the darkness. Gaze seeking out Claude's, he looks at the other man through the shadows, follows the lines of his face, the curves of his lips and chin. He's having a hard time properly reading his expression but then again, this isn't exactly the moment for analytic thought, now is it. But he likes the softness of it over all, how they're basically just running now, the both of them, at a comfortable pace that feels neither too fast nor too sluggish. He reaches down between them, fingers trailing lightly over Claude's hard, well-trained stomach. Though he doesn't look like he works out solely for the sake of building muscle - unlike Marcel who's been building his body like others build castles or cathedrals for the past decades - he's definitely got a hard-earned body, doesn't he?
Seconds later, his fingers brush over the thick length of his cock. Taking hold of it by the base firmly, without hesitation, he rolls the condom down the other man's hard length, a quick and rather effortless gesture. All the same, it leaves him feeling curiously, indisputably breathless. ]
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Though it shouldn't take a genius to figure out that Claude's clearly getting condoms, he hears it before he truly gets it; the sound of Claude's fingers, closing around the two wrappers, the rustling of plastic suddenly louder than the blood, rushing through his head. The feeling dissipates fast, it's nothing important, nothing worth noting, but right then - of course, he was prepared. Just in case. He breathes in slowly, Claude's scent bright and warm in the mix of oxygen and arousal. The feel of their noses bumping is amusing in its own right, yet another perfectly fitted piece, and he smiles slowly, his mood balancing out. He doesn't know how or why. It just does.
When Claude presses the condom into his hand, he knows exactly what he wants to do with it. Drawing back (and away from Claude's tongue tracing his lip - such a shame) enough to leave him room to move his hands, he tears the package open, draws out the condom and flicks the wrapper over one shoulder, into the darkness. Gaze seeking out Claude's, he looks at the other man through the shadows, follows the lines of his face, the curves of his lips and chin. He's having a hard time properly reading his expression but then again, this isn't exactly the moment for analytic thought, now is it. But he likes the softness of it over all, how they're basically just running now, the both of them, at a comfortable pace that feels neither too fast nor too sluggish. He reaches down between them, fingers trailing lightly over Claude's hard, well-trained stomach. Though he doesn't look like he works out solely for the sake of building muscle - unlike Marcel who's been building his body like others build castles or cathedrals for the past decades - he's definitely got a hard-earned body, doesn't he?
Seconds later, his fingers brush over the thick length of his cock. Taking hold of it by the base firmly, without hesitation, he rolls the condom down the other man's hard length, a quick and rather effortless gesture. All the same, it leaves him feeling curiously, indisputably breathless. ]