[ 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.
[ He's pleading for it, his little ballet dancer, and the words go straight to his cock. Shifting, he ignores the way his trousers tighten, deciding that it doesn't matter. He'll get his turn, naturally, as things always go between the two of them, back and forth. Balance. Instead, he focuses his attention on the hard cock between his fingers, the condom providing a thin, sleek barrier - he doesn't mind it, though the taste of rubber isn't particularly endearing. Being sexually irresponsible really has no advantages whatsoever, unless you desperately enjoy the average STD.
Claude's got a very big cock. It's nicely shaped, very much like the rest of his body, but it's also a very interesting challenge to blow. One's throat doesn't much appreciate neither girth nor length, does it? But he's used to Marcel who's larger still (you'd be hard-pressed to find someone larger, unless you went scouting amongst elephants on the African savannah) and really, the strain of forcing your jaw to cooperate pales in comparison with the reaction that follows. Blowing a man is a bit like sucking his brains out; in that aspect, it's satisfying in its own right. Even if cock isn't necessarily his greatest turn-on when it comes to oral sex.
Please, he says, and Jean Louis watches him squirm for another couple of seconds before leaning in over Claude's lap, parting his lips and sucking the head of his cock into his mouth. Relaxing his jaws, he keeps his lips folded over his teeth, making certain not to accidentally tear the condom or, indeed, the cock as it slides further into his mouth, along the width of his tongue. He takes it slow, mostly for his own sake - besides, they have time, don't they? They have time. Breathing shakily through his nose, he keeps his hand locked around the base of the shaft. Keeps still for a few, outdrawn seconds before drawing back slowly. ]
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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.
no subject
Claude's got a very big cock. It's nicely shaped, very much like the rest of his body, but it's also a very interesting challenge to blow. One's throat doesn't much appreciate neither girth nor length, does it? But he's used to Marcel who's larger still (you'd be hard-pressed to find someone larger, unless you went scouting amongst elephants on the African savannah) and really, the strain of forcing your jaw to cooperate pales in comparison with the reaction that follows. Blowing a man is a bit like sucking his brains out; in that aspect, it's satisfying in its own right. Even if cock isn't necessarily his greatest turn-on when it comes to oral sex.
Please, he says, and Jean Louis watches him squirm for another couple of seconds before leaning in over Claude's lap, parting his lips and sucking the head of his cock into his mouth. Relaxing his jaws, he keeps his lips folded over his teeth, making certain not to accidentally tear the condom or, indeed, the cock as it slides further into his mouth, along the width of his tongue. He takes it slow, mostly for his own sake - besides, they have time, don't they? They have time. Breathing shakily through his nose, he keeps his hand locked around the base of the shaft. Keeps still for a few, outdrawn seconds before drawing back slowly. ]