[ Yes, he thinks, almost tangibly so, yes, you should.
Jean Louis' touch evolves so gradually and yet so quickly that Claude finds it difficult to follow. His hands on Claude's legs, sliding upwards across his inner thighs, splaying out... Then one hand coming up to cup his cock through his briefs, the feeling of pressure and heat making Claude blank out momentarily... Then he pulls off the briefs entirely, removes the last layer of non-sexuality between his fingers and Claude's hard cock and Claude follows the entire evolution with his eyes, gaze fixed on the broad expanses of Jean Louis' hands. They're big, not out of proportion and wouldn't Claude be the first to tell, but as massive as the other man's shoulders, as his ego, as his stubborn head. Shit. Claude breathes in harshly as fingers finally close around the base of his cock, keeping him steady, keeping him in place while Jean Louis fishes out a condom.
He has always, from the very beginning, appreciated that Jean Louis doesn't count among the men who find it difficult to understand the importance of safe sex. Even if they haven't yet done anal - and Claude has a lingering suspicion that they'll never get to that point, it's not for them and it's fine - they've still used condoms every single time. Not once has Claude had to talk the other man into using protection, he hasn't had to explain to him how it matters even more than normally, because Jean Louis is having a stable, undoubtedly sexual relationship with someone else. All of that is self-explanatory between them and Claude kind of loves that aspect of him. Since Gilbert, it has been essential, using condoms. Since Rainier, it has been essential not having to fight for his own basic rights.
So, he whimpers a little and flexes his hips upwards once, before Jean Louis begins rolling on the condom. There's the sense of rubber and coolness, but it's only for a moment, until the latex sucks up his body heat - and God knows, he's warm, he's so damn hot, he's dying right now. ]
Please. [ It's a half-whisper, not a plea. Little pearling drops of sweat have gathered along his collarbone and in his chest hair. He needs Jean Louis to do something, quickly. Now, preferably. He's shaking from it. From wanting. ] Shit, Jean Louis. Please.
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Jean Louis' touch evolves so gradually and yet so quickly that Claude finds it difficult to follow. His hands on Claude's legs, sliding upwards across his inner thighs, splaying out... Then one hand coming up to cup his cock through his briefs, the feeling of pressure and heat making Claude blank out momentarily... Then he pulls off the briefs entirely, removes the last layer of non-sexuality between his fingers and Claude's hard cock and Claude follows the entire evolution with his eyes, gaze fixed on the broad expanses of Jean Louis' hands. They're big, not out of proportion and wouldn't Claude be the first to tell, but as massive as the other man's shoulders, as his ego, as his stubborn head. Shit. Claude breathes in harshly as fingers finally close around the base of his cock, keeping him steady, keeping him in place while Jean Louis fishes out a condom.
He has always, from the very beginning, appreciated that Jean Louis doesn't count among the men who find it difficult to understand the importance of safe sex. Even if they haven't yet done anal - and Claude has a lingering suspicion that they'll never get to that point, it's not for them and it's fine - they've still used condoms every single time. Not once has Claude had to talk the other man into using protection, he hasn't had to explain to him how it matters even more than normally, because Jean Louis is having a stable, undoubtedly sexual relationship with someone else. All of that is self-explanatory between them and Claude kind of loves that aspect of him. Since Gilbert, it has been essential, using condoms. Since Rainier, it has been essential not having to fight for his own basic rights.
So, he whimpers a little and flexes his hips upwards once, before Jean Louis begins rolling on the condom. There's the sense of rubber and coolness, but it's only for a moment, until the latex sucks up his body heat - and God knows, he's warm, he's so damn hot, he's dying right now. ]
Please. [ It's a half-whisper, not a plea. Little pearling drops of sweat have gathered along his collarbone and in his chest hair. He needs Jean Louis to do something, quickly. Now, preferably. He's shaking from it. From wanting. ] Shit, Jean Louis. Please.