[ Claude allows him - both his tongue filling his mouth and his hand, slipping up his thigh. Jean Louis immediately takes what he's offered. That's something you learn when you realise that nothing's permanent and very, very little freely given; if there's a chance, grab it.
Or a cock, in this case. He's no stranger to that, either.
Breathing hard into Claude's mouth, feeling him out, going a bit deeper, he runs his palm further in along the crease between his thigh and groin, reaching just a little to the side until the bulge of the other man's hard cock presses against his hand. He's definitely more than semi-hard at this point and so is Jean Louis; they are very much in sync, then, which feels not just fortunate but proper, as if anything else would have been an anomaly. They're still very new to each other, a small step up from strangers and the thought, consequently, is odd. It's not something one can expect and even so, his body seems to be expecting it, the sameness. As if to emphasise that train of thought, Claude runs his hand down his body, over his chest and midriff, all the way to his crotch, folding his hand over his cock as well.
His skin tingles beneath his clothes in the aftermath of Claude's touch. Here and there, ruined nerves twitch weirdly in response, the back of his left shoulder aching briefly. He rolls it, loosening the tension, though his focus barely even strays from Claude's hands, his mouth. His scent and the feel of him. It fascinates him, this togetherness and it's not just because he hasn't felt it for a long time.
It feels new.
Spreading his legs a little to give the other man space, he parts his lips and lets him explore as he wishes, feeling him out at the same time. His cock is big, bigger than average, too, and while he's no size queen, he isn't any less impressed by a big dick than most other men. Of course, Claude would be big, he thinks. He's got that energy to him. He's a man who dares to talk about feminism, consent, who dares to challenge power dynamics buried deep within the very core fabric of their society. It takes something. It takes balls.
And speaking of those.
Leaning into Claude's kiss, letting him fill out his mouth as he pleases, Jean Louis runs his hand further down, feeling out the length of Claude's cock, the heaviness of it, before he curves his hand around the outline of his balls. He holds them carefully for a moment (big, obviously - ah, he likes it when the math adds up) before withdrawing, breaking the kiss and releasing him to make eye contact. ]
Come. These chairs aren't that comfortable.
[ His voice sounds raw. He gets to his feet, his cock tenting his trousers rather visibly, and nods towards the bedroom. The frosted glass sliding door is visible from here, a faint blue glimmer of light fluttering across the floor from inside. ]
no subject
Or a cock, in this case. He's no stranger to that, either.
Breathing hard into Claude's mouth, feeling him out, going a bit deeper, he runs his palm further in along the crease between his thigh and groin, reaching just a little to the side until the bulge of the other man's hard cock presses against his hand. He's definitely more than semi-hard at this point and so is Jean Louis; they are very much in sync, then, which feels not just fortunate but proper, as if anything else would have been an anomaly. They're still very new to each other, a small step up from strangers and the thought, consequently, is odd. It's not something one can expect and even so, his body seems to be expecting it, the sameness. As if to emphasise that train of thought, Claude runs his hand down his body, over his chest and midriff, all the way to his crotch, folding his hand over his cock as well.
His skin tingles beneath his clothes in the aftermath of Claude's touch. Here and there, ruined nerves twitch weirdly in response, the back of his left shoulder aching briefly. He rolls it, loosening the tension, though his focus barely even strays from Claude's hands, his mouth. His scent and the feel of him. It fascinates him, this togetherness and it's not just because he hasn't felt it for a long time.
It feels new.
Spreading his legs a little to give the other man space, he parts his lips and lets him explore as he wishes, feeling him out at the same time. His cock is big, bigger than average, too, and while he's no size queen, he isn't any less impressed by a big dick than most other men. Of course, Claude would be big, he thinks. He's got that energy to him. He's a man who dares to talk about feminism, consent, who dares to challenge power dynamics buried deep within the very core fabric of their society. It takes something. It takes balls.
And speaking of those.
Leaning into Claude's kiss, letting him fill out his mouth as he pleases, Jean Louis runs his hand further down, feeling out the length of Claude's cock, the heaviness of it, before he curves his hand around the outline of his balls. He holds them carefully for a moment (big, obviously - ah, he likes it when the math adds up) before withdrawing, breaking the kiss and releasing him to make eye contact. ]
Come. These chairs aren't that comfortable.
[ His voice sounds raw. He gets to his feet, his cock tenting his trousers rather visibly, and nods towards the bedroom. The frosted glass sliding door is visible from here, a faint blue glimmer of light fluttering across the floor from inside. ]