[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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. ]