[ 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. ]
[ There's movement. The necessary intermediaries. Jean Louis draws back enough to earn himself room to move, to tear open the wrapper, pulling the condom out and discarding the rest. Their gazes meet, then, a vibrant moment of Jean Louis' dark eyes looking into Claude's own, while he takes his time to study his face and the sheer intimacy of it, of being watched so closely is enough to make his cock fucking weep. He breathes in heavily, shakily, deeply, doesn't push forward although he really wants to, instead waiting for Jean Louis to take the lead on this one. As if in reply, Jean Louis' hand trails down over his stomach, down and down and down - and Claude can feel his eyelids falling closed while he shutters around another intake of breath. Oh, shit, it's really happening, this. This is real life. The other man's fingers are warm against his own overheated skin and feel like an explosion of heat, when they wrap around the base of his cock. Claude feels his hips sink forward into the touch lightly, it's not really a thrust, but it's of a similar inclination. He wants more, more. Give him more.
Jean Louis rolls the condom on quickly and efficiently, another intermediary, and Claude waits with tension rising in every muscle. He wants to move, he wants to do, but he's patient, he can let the other man lead them onwards in his own time. As he hears Jean Louis' breath shake, collapse in on itself, though, he can't help it, he edges that last inch closer, pushes further into Jean Louis' grasp and reaches down between them, crossing paths with Jean Louis' arms only briefly while he unwraps his own condom, throws the wrapper aside and slowly, achingly slowly, lets his fingers find the outline of the other man's hard abdomen. His happy trail makes it an easy path to find, if he should for some reason feel uncertain about what direction he's going in at this point, laughable, but still, he follows the trail of hair down, fingers burning from the touch. Claude mutters something indistinct even to his own ears as his fingers finally make contact with the hard, hot shaft of Jean Louis' cock, the weight of it already distinctive against his palm as he moves his hand downward, takes hold around the base. Fuck, so hot, so... Rolling on the condom is an afterthought, something that he just needs to do, because Claude never has unprotected sex. He learned so much from Gilbert and this was one such thing. Never. Never.
The fact that Jean Louis didn't make a fuss of it, like some guys do... Well, maybe reasonable politicians do exist all across the spectrum. Claude tightens his grip just a tiny bit, turns his head and finds the other man's lips again, sucking that lower lip into his mouth, a definite feel of suction. Wetness and warmth. ]
[ They stay still for a moment or two, each gripping the other's cock, and it could have been potentially ridiculous if it weren't for how flat-out comfortable it all feels. Really, even if Claude isn't planning on shooting him, anyone else probably could without breaking a sweat right now. He can't remember sex ever being quite like this, and he certainly wouldn't want it to be as a regular thing, but presently, this moment? It's fine. It's perfectly fine. Jean Louis lets him suck on his lower lip for a few seconds, a rather large percentage of his concentration focused elsewhere, focused south, on Claude's grip near the base of his cock.
Though people might presume differently once they actually meet Marcel or figure out what he'll let them about his personality, their sex life isn't truly very adventurous. At least not the one they share (whatever he might be doing with that Italian skank of his, well, at this very moment, frankly, it doesn't matter). When Jean Louis fucks his women, it's the same story though the endings do tend to... vary. In any case, he's not quite sure what to expect from sleeping with men who aren't Marcel, seeing as he never does; as he runs his palm slowly up along the heavy length of Claude's shaft, he decides to take charge and just set a course, any course.
Eyes narrowing slightly in concentration, he pauses, palm lingering right beneath the head of Claude's cock, fingertips pressing in against the small ridge running along the underside. Rubbing it slowly with his thumb, up and down, his other fingers curved lightly over the shaft, he leans in the rest of the way and kisses him. This time, he doesn't wait for Claude to catch up with him - he presses his tongue against his lips, feeling the wetness of his mouth and wanting more because that's how it goes, isn't it? One good thing, drain it dry, go for the next, live. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
Jean Louis rolls the condom on quickly and efficiently, another intermediary, and Claude waits with tension rising in every muscle. He wants to move, he wants to do, but he's patient, he can let the other man lead them onwards in his own time. As he hears Jean Louis' breath shake, collapse in on itself, though, he can't help it, he edges that last inch closer, pushes further into Jean Louis' grasp and reaches down between them, crossing paths with Jean Louis' arms only briefly while he unwraps his own condom, throws the wrapper aside and slowly, achingly slowly, lets his fingers find the outline of the other man's hard abdomen. His happy trail makes it an easy path to find, if he should for some reason feel uncertain about what direction he's going in at this point, laughable, but still, he follows the trail of hair down, fingers burning from the touch. Claude mutters something indistinct even to his own ears as his fingers finally make contact with the hard, hot shaft of Jean Louis' cock, the weight of it already distinctive against his palm as he moves his hand downward, takes hold around the base. Fuck, so hot, so... Rolling on the condom is an afterthought, something that he just needs to do, because Claude never has unprotected sex. He learned so much from Gilbert and this was one such thing. Never. Never.
The fact that Jean Louis didn't make a fuss of it, like some guys do... Well, maybe reasonable politicians do exist all across the spectrum. Claude tightens his grip just a tiny bit, turns his head and finds the other man's lips again, sucking that lower lip into his mouth, a definite feel of suction. Wetness and warmth. ]
no subject
Though people might presume differently once they actually meet Marcel or figure out what he'll let them about his personality, their sex life isn't truly very adventurous. At least not the one they share (whatever he might be doing with that Italian skank of his, well, at this very moment, frankly, it doesn't matter). When Jean Louis fucks his women, it's the same story though the endings do tend to... vary. In any case, he's not quite sure what to expect from sleeping with men who aren't Marcel, seeing as he never does; as he runs his palm slowly up along the heavy length of Claude's shaft, he decides to take charge and just set a course, any course.
Eyes narrowing slightly in concentration, he pauses, palm lingering right beneath the head of Claude's cock, fingertips pressing in against the small ridge running along the underside. Rubbing it slowly with his thumb, up and down, his other fingers curved lightly over the shaft, he leans in the rest of the way and kisses him. This time, he doesn't wait for Claude to catch up with him - he presses his tongue against his lips, feeling the wetness of his mouth and wanting more because that's how it goes, isn't it? One good thing, drain it dry, go for the next, live. ]