[ While his own hand stays relatively still over the bulge in Jean Louis' trousers, mostly angling his grip a bit to feel the weight of him, sense the outline of his shaft through the fabric, Jean Louis goes all out exploration. Between Claude's wide open thighs, as wide as he can go in these pants, his hand feels him out, length, girth, weight, Claude can almost feel the appreciation in how the man stays pliant and receptive to Claude's mouth, while his hand wants and wants and wants. It makes him even harder for him, his balls feeling tight and sensitive.
He's licking into the other man's mouth, soft, deep plunges of his tongue, when Jean Louis decides to cup a feel of his balls as well, the slight slip of fingers, sliding further back, making his whole asshole tighten up, like he's anticipating something he doesn't even do that often, but Jean Louis stops at his balls, folds his palm around them and Claude's breath is helplessly stuck in his throat, his skin burning everywhere. Oh. Oh.
Then, finally, the other man draws back, breaking their kiss before getting to his feet, looking at Claude and telling him, the chairs aren't optimal location, time for a shift, right? Time for a change.
A nod towards a glass door, frosted, blue light emitting from behind it. Bedroom, he's gonna assume. They're doing more than groping in Jean Louis Girard's living room, in that case. This means, they're actually gonna do this.
Claude feels too young and too nervous all of a sudden. He feels like fear might not have led him here, but it could lead him astray.
So, he puts it into words. Smiling sideways at the other man, moving up next to him and catching his left hand, interlacing their fingers slowly, he bumps Jean Louis' shoulder as he follows along towards the room in question. His tone is contemplative. ]
I rarely see any bedrooms that aren't my own. [ True, he could make a joke of it, lighten the implication that he doesn't actually -- sleep with people. Instead, he makes his point clearer, emphasising it. When they get to the door, the blue light somehow sharpening and taking a kind of shape behind the frosted surface, he releases the other man's hand and adds, ] And people rarely see mine.
[ I'm nervous, it means.
Looking up at the other man, Claude frowns for a moment, recalling their previous texting, Jean Louis telling him, not others. He doesn't ask, you too - about the nerves, about the privacy of his bedroom, because honestly? He already has and he thinks he knows where they're standing. With each other. ]
no subject
He's licking into the other man's mouth, soft, deep plunges of his tongue, when Jean Louis decides to cup a feel of his balls as well, the slight slip of fingers, sliding further back, making his whole asshole tighten up, like he's anticipating something he doesn't even do that often, but Jean Louis stops at his balls, folds his palm around them and Claude's breath is helplessly stuck in his throat, his skin burning everywhere. Oh. Oh.
Then, finally, the other man draws back, breaking their kiss before getting to his feet, looking at Claude and telling him, the chairs aren't optimal location, time for a shift, right? Time for a change.
A nod towards a glass door, frosted, blue light emitting from behind it. Bedroom, he's gonna assume. They're doing more than groping in Jean Louis Girard's living room, in that case. This means, they're actually gonna do this.
Claude feels too young and too nervous all of a sudden. He feels like fear might not have led him here, but it could lead him astray.
So, he puts it into words. Smiling sideways at the other man, moving up next to him and catching his left hand, interlacing their fingers slowly, he bumps Jean Louis' shoulder as he follows along towards the room in question. His tone is contemplative. ]
I rarely see any bedrooms that aren't my own. [ True, he could make a joke of it, lighten the implication that he doesn't actually -- sleep with people. Instead, he makes his point clearer, emphasising it. When they get to the door, the blue light somehow sharpening and taking a kind of shape behind the frosted surface, he releases the other man's hand and adds, ] And people rarely see mine.
[ I'm nervous, it means.
Looking up at the other man, Claude frowns for a moment, recalling their previous texting, Jean Louis telling him, not others. He doesn't ask, you too - about the nerves, about the privacy of his bedroom, because honestly? He already has and he thinks he knows where they're standing. With each other. ]