[ One second, two - and then, Claude parts his lips, unfolding his legs more or less simultaneously and isn't it amazing, how flexible he is? Marcel could possibly manage something similar, if only because of his extensive martial arts training, but he'd do so a lot less gracefully.
The other man's mouth is warm and wet, hints of wine and grapes lingering on his tongue. Jean Louis cocks his head slightly to give himself a better angle, breathing through his nose and taking his time. They can go fast, certainly, but with Claude, things are first and foremost devoid of chaos. Things progress. They gain or lose intensity. Black doesn't simply change into white, it's a gradual thing and the spectrum travels all the way across grey. The concept isn't novel for Jean Louis anymore and thus, he doesn't have to think about it too closely - like so many other aspects of this odd relationship, it just is.
Sliding more fully onto his knees against the settee, he manages to find a somewhat comfortable position, carrying most of his weight on one leg between Claude's, his other knee resting on the settee alongside his thigh. It's not an altogether perfect position; as opposed to Claude (and Marcel, for that matter), he spends most of his life in office settings. Accordingly, his level of flexibility lacks a bit in comparison. For now, however, it'll do.
Breathing into this kiss this time, stroking the tip of his tongue along the length of the other man's, he pushes his knee slowly, assertively upwards against the light bulge in his jeans. He takes care - after all, no normal man actively enjoys getting kneed in the crotch. He can feel the contours of Claude's cock through the stiff fabric and though he isn't queer enough to get a hard-on from it, the implications do make him feel heated. Then again, he does so enjoy being in charge. ]
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The other man's mouth is warm and wet, hints of wine and grapes lingering on his tongue. Jean Louis cocks his head slightly to give himself a better angle, breathing through his nose and taking his time. They can go fast, certainly, but with Claude, things are first and foremost devoid of chaos. Things progress. They gain or lose intensity. Black doesn't simply change into white, it's a gradual thing and the spectrum travels all the way across grey. The concept isn't novel for Jean Louis anymore and thus, he doesn't have to think about it too closely - like so many other aspects of this odd relationship, it just is.
Sliding more fully onto his knees against the settee, he manages to find a somewhat comfortable position, carrying most of his weight on one leg between Claude's, his other knee resting on the settee alongside his thigh. It's not an altogether perfect position; as opposed to Claude (and Marcel, for that matter), he spends most of his life in office settings. Accordingly, his level of flexibility lacks a bit in comparison. For now, however, it'll do.
Breathing into this kiss this time, stroking the tip of his tongue along the length of the other man's, he pushes his knee slowly, assertively upwards against the light bulge in his jeans. He takes care - after all, no normal man actively enjoys getting kneed in the crotch. He can feel the contours of Claude's cock through the stiff fabric and though he isn't queer enough to get a hard-on from it, the implications do make him feel heated. Then again, he does so enjoy being in charge. ]