[Claude's just a comfortable person through and through, that much is obvious, for he doesn't attempt to take any liberties and doesn't really try to run the show in any other aspect, either. A rare thing concerning most men, which is probably why Jean Louis never sleeps with anyone but Marcel, whom he trusts with every fiber of his being. Women are different; though modern times call for women to take charge, be leaders, be masculine - such a shame and completely unnecessary - the ones he usually sleeps with love the feel of giving in. And ultimately, it's hard to feel truly challenged by a them. For all their strengths and positives, they're physically just weaker.
Claude, on the other hand, is a ballet dancer and whilst some would probably scoff at the idea of a ballet dancer possessing any kind of male authority, he can feel the hardness of Claude's upper arm as he runs his hand upwards towards his shoulder. Marcel's a monster, obviously, and no body truly compares, but this man's definitely no weakling. The thought's good, makes him feel right at home.
Inhaling slowly, languidly, he pushes his tongue between Claude's ready lips, this time a bit insistently, seeing as the man's practically asking him for it. The warm, wet slide of their tongues and the softness of Claude's lips is a powerful cocktail, a flare of heat rushing over his skin. Hand tightening against Claude's shoulder, he tilts his head slightly to avoid their noses clacking together, feeling suddenly rather intent on more.]
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Claude, on the other hand, is a ballet dancer and whilst some would probably scoff at the idea of a ballet dancer possessing any kind of male authority, he can feel the hardness of Claude's upper arm as he runs his hand upwards towards his shoulder. Marcel's a monster, obviously, and no body truly compares, but this man's definitely no weakling. The thought's good, makes him feel right at home.
Inhaling slowly, languidly, he pushes his tongue between Claude's ready lips, this time a bit insistently, seeing as the man's practically asking him for it. The warm, wet slide of their tongues and the softness of Claude's lips is a powerful cocktail, a flare of heat rushing over his skin. Hand tightening against Claude's shoulder, he tilts his head slightly to avoid their noses clacking together, feeling suddenly rather intent on more.]