[ Jean Louis doesn't buy into the idea which is okay, it's fine, it's what it is. Instead the other man leans into Claude's personal sphere, slowly, deliberately, it's something almost choreographed, how he stops only a few inches from Claude's face and looks at him, at the way he's struggling against his own reins. Claude can tell that Jean Louis can tell that he wants to kiss him, he can infer it from the way their eyes are locked now and there's a sense of waiting, of wanting, of slight but insistent impatience. Whether it's his own or Jean Louis', he has no idea whatsoever. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe all that matters right now is his response. His reaction.
Claude swallows thickly, glancing down at Jean Louis' lips. They're such a prominent feature, like his nose. They look horribly inviting, wonderfully soft. He'll probably taste like wine and cigarettes with that unique sense of him remaining indescribable, because Claude can't even phantom it. Whether Jean Louis' taste will be sharp like Armani or with more of a lemon zing. Whether it'll be a complete surprise, unlike everything Claude knows about the other man at this point, when... if... they...
Gaze flying back up to Jean Louis' eyes. He doesn't draw back. He doesn't move at all, he stays very still. ]
I'd really like you to kiss me.
[ It's such an overcoming to make it a request rather than a question. There's an admittance to it, that Claude can't take this step on his own, by himself. He needs -- not a push or a shove, but help. He needs help getting to where he wants to be. It might not even be a request, hell, it might be a plea.
The intensity of Jean Louis' presence is giving him goosebumps, all the way down his arms, hairs standing on end. His breathing sounds loud and fast to his own ears. ]
[ Though it's occurred to him more than once, twice or thrice - that Claude's ridiculously good-looking and that they haven't had sex yet - he realises now that it's been a relief the past many months, not having to think about it too much. Simply being in his company without the implicit addition of a sexual dimension. The first time he had sex with a girl, he didn't care much about it, though it wasn't unpleasant. This particular feeling of neither-nor has stayed with him ever since; men, women, one-night-stands or someone like Alice who he keeps returning to - it doesn't matter. He's always assumed he's just deaf to it, deafer than other people. It would certainly go with the overall picture, wouldn't it?
Whether it's due to the long period during which sex hasn't featured between them or something else, he doesn't know - but by Gods, he'd... really rather like to kiss him as well. Right now, he'd rather like to, which is something he can feel, a distinctive sense of want that he can't recall having felt before. Good thing he's not the type to lose sight of his goals or this might very well have made him thoroughly disorientated. Instead, he watches Claude for another moment, the look in his eyes, the... obvious vulnerability. I'd really like you to...
Smile turning into something else, something he can't name though it feels more like a focus (determination?), he leans in the rest of way and kisses Claude, pressing their lips together, lightly at first, then firmer. There's no tongue, just the pressure of lips against lips. This close up, Claude's body heat translates itself very solidly across the small distance between their bodies and he suddenly feels overheated, like he ought to rid himself of this shirt as fast as possible. He doesn't, however. Instead, he runs his hand up Claude's naked upper arm, palm following the slope of his shoulder and coming to rest flatly along the curve of his neck.
Like this, the roaring of blood in his ears is slowly but surely drowning out the ever-present background noise; all those things he ought to complain about. ]
[ And Jean Louis does. He leans in, bridging the remaining distance between them and Claude's eyes don't flutter shut until a few seconds into the sensation of lips against lips, the light pressure of Jean Louis' mouth making him cock his head a little, adjusting the angle slightly. He's good with angles. He knows how to manipulate his body to perfection, doesn't he? He knows how to respond.
So he responds.
There's a gradual feeling to the intensity of their kiss, it evolves from something unassuming to something much heavier surprisingly quickly and normally, Claude imagines, he can't rightly say, he hasn't been with anyone like this for a year and a half, he'd probably fight to slow down, to keep it to a certain level for as long as possible, but right now all he can think is more, more, more with a desperation he can only recognize from work, from the last few seconds of a solo variation. Push through. The finish line is right there. Jean Louis' lips are very soft. They're also very self-assured, he can tell.
The other man's hand glides up his upper arm, making goosebumps erupt again, palm flat against his skin and hand splaying out along the curve of his neck by the end. Swallowing something thick and hard that's lodged itself in his throat, he makes a small sound of enjoyment before pressing back against Jean Louis' mouth, parting his lips slightly to be able to stick his tongue out, just a tiny bit, just so, and run the tip of it across the other man's lower lip. It's not an aggressive gesture by any means, but rather an invitation and to underline this, Claude reaches out with his right hand slowly, flattening his palm against Jean Louis' midriff through the layers of fabric that Armani has dressed him in.
He feels heated and hard, a hint of muscle to balance out the softness of the shirt. Very masculine. Very hot. Something truly remarkable that he seems to have almost forgotten about. After. ]
[ Claude responds quickly, tilting his head a little and suddenly, the angle is perfect - why has he never noticed before? That there's such a thing as a perfect kissing angle? He's kissed many people throughout the years, mostly as a means to an end; connect as many body parts as humanely possible before the night's out and the quiet starts to settle once again. There's never been any reason to stay in the moment for very long; there's such a thing, in fact, as killing a passion simply by stretching out the moment beyond endurance. But now he does notice. And it makes sense.
Claude's tongue comes out, runs along his lower lip, and there's something so careful about it, so considerate that he takes a moment to react, to move them onwards. Instead, he simply lets it linger, the fact that he's always asking, is Claude, always trying to align their paces, fundamentally different as they may be. He can't say exactly how it makes him feel, he's not the type to look backwards for explanations; he only knows that it's hard to get enough of.
Leaning into the kiss a bit more, he tightens his fingers against Claude's neck, the touch of the other man's hand against his midriff sending small shivers running up his spine, along his skin. Then, he parts his lips and pushes his tongue against Claude's, pressing it into his mouth. The heat, the wetness - and the taste of him, uniquely Claude, very warm and round with a hint of something much sharper... Eyes slipping shut, he deepens the kiss and tries to rid his mind of all other thoughts, the tension in his muscles dissipating slowly but surely. ]
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Claude swallows thickly, glancing down at Jean Louis' lips. They're such a prominent feature, like his nose. They look horribly inviting, wonderfully soft. He'll probably taste like wine and cigarettes with that unique sense of him remaining indescribable, because Claude can't even phantom it. Whether Jean Louis' taste will be sharp like Armani or with more of a lemon zing. Whether it'll be a complete surprise, unlike everything Claude knows about the other man at this point, when... if... they...
Gaze flying back up to Jean Louis' eyes. He doesn't draw back. He doesn't move at all, he stays very still. ]
I'd really like you to kiss me.
[ It's such an overcoming to make it a request rather than a question. There's an admittance to it, that Claude can't take this step on his own, by himself. He needs -- not a push or a shove, but help. He needs help getting to where he wants to be. It might not even be a request, hell, it might be a plea.
The intensity of Jean Louis' presence is giving him goosebumps, all the way down his arms, hairs standing on end. His breathing sounds loud and fast to his own ears. ]
no subject
Whether it's due to the long period during which sex hasn't featured between them or something else, he doesn't know - but by Gods, he'd... really rather like to kiss him as well. Right now, he'd rather like to, which is something he can feel, a distinctive sense of want that he can't recall having felt before. Good thing he's not the type to lose sight of his goals or this might very well have made him thoroughly disorientated. Instead, he watches Claude for another moment, the look in his eyes, the... obvious vulnerability. I'd really like you to...
Smile turning into something else, something he can't name though it feels more like a focus (determination?), he leans in the rest of way and kisses Claude, pressing their lips together, lightly at first, then firmer. There's no tongue, just the pressure of lips against lips. This close up, Claude's body heat translates itself very solidly across the small distance between their bodies and he suddenly feels overheated, like he ought to rid himself of this shirt as fast as possible. He doesn't, however. Instead, he runs his hand up Claude's naked upper arm, palm following the slope of his shoulder and coming to rest flatly along the curve of his neck.
Like this, the roaring of blood in his ears is slowly but surely drowning out the ever-present background noise; all those things he ought to complain about. ]
no subject
So he responds.
There's a gradual feeling to the intensity of their kiss, it evolves from something unassuming to something much heavier surprisingly quickly and normally, Claude imagines, he can't rightly say, he hasn't been with anyone like this for a year and a half, he'd probably fight to slow down, to keep it to a certain level for as long as possible, but right now all he can think is more, more, more with a desperation he can only recognize from work, from the last few seconds of a solo variation. Push through. The finish line is right there. Jean Louis' lips are very soft. They're also very self-assured, he can tell.
The other man's hand glides up his upper arm, making goosebumps erupt again, palm flat against his skin and hand splaying out along the curve of his neck by the end. Swallowing something thick and hard that's lodged itself in his throat, he makes a small sound of enjoyment before pressing back against Jean Louis' mouth, parting his lips slightly to be able to stick his tongue out, just a tiny bit, just so, and run the tip of it across the other man's lower lip. It's not an aggressive gesture by any means, but rather an invitation and to underline this, Claude reaches out with his right hand slowly, flattening his palm against Jean Louis' midriff through the layers of fabric that Armani has dressed him in.
He feels heated and hard, a hint of muscle to balance out the softness of the shirt. Very masculine. Very hot. Something truly remarkable that he seems to have almost forgotten about. After. ]
no subject
Claude's tongue comes out, runs along his lower lip, and there's something so careful about it, so considerate that he takes a moment to react, to move them onwards. Instead, he simply lets it linger, the fact that he's always asking, is Claude, always trying to align their paces, fundamentally different as they may be. He can't say exactly how it makes him feel, he's not the type to look backwards for explanations; he only knows that it's hard to get enough of.
Leaning into the kiss a bit more, he tightens his fingers against Claude's neck, the touch of the other man's hand against his midriff sending small shivers running up his spine, along his skin. Then, he parts his lips and pushes his tongue against Claude's, pressing it into his mouth. The heat, the wetness - and the taste of him, uniquely Claude, very warm and round with a hint of something much sharper... Eyes slipping shut, he deepens the kiss and tries to rid his mind of all other thoughts, the tension in his muscles dissipating slowly but surely. ]