[ Sliding the door aside, Jean Louis lets him enter and Claude follows closely behind, gaze sweeping the bedroom effectively - walk-in closets built into the walls, taking up no unnecessary space, white sheets on the bed, everything clean and simple and, then there's the aquarium. It spans the whole wall, its blue light bright and synthetic in the natural darkness of the hour. Past midnight. Luxembourg is still awake out there, he can tell. Lights everywhere.
When Jean Louis speaks, Claude stops the scrutiny and turns towards him, his trousers still feeling uncomfortably tight, his lower body practically calling for more. Or less, depending; less clothes, more closeness. The other man has a deep voice, dark and full of grit. He sounds very much like himself and Claude breathes in deeply when he talks about bedrooms being private. About how he, too, hasn't had anyone join him here in a long time. In his private sphere.
You, too, he thinks, walking over to the other man slowly, stopping right in front of him, looking up, the five centimeters that set them apart. Pretty much the only thing that does, it feels like right now. It's a thrilling thought, physical in nature, inherently sexual. You could fill me out and I could fill you out in turn.
Sameness.
Claude smiles. ]
There's nothing we have to show the world until we want to.
[ Reaching up with one hand, he slips his fingers into the hair by Jean Louis' temple, already loosened by his handling of it earlier, smoothening it back, yuppie-style, like Jean Louis apparently likes it, and cradles the back of the other man's head gently. Before he leans up and kisses him, hard, insistent. The wine is gone. There's only the dark-edged undertone of Jean Louis himself, the wetness of his spit, the heat of his mouth, the depth of him. It's making Claude groan into him.
Until you want to, it says. Besides, Claude and him - they're not the world, either of them. They can be something else, maybe even more than that. At least tonight. Together. ]
no subject
When Jean Louis speaks, Claude stops the scrutiny and turns towards him, his trousers still feeling uncomfortably tight, his lower body practically calling for more. Or less, depending; less clothes, more closeness. The other man has a deep voice, dark and full of grit. He sounds very much like himself and Claude breathes in deeply when he talks about bedrooms being private. About how he, too, hasn't had anyone join him here in a long time. In his private sphere.
You, too, he thinks, walking over to the other man slowly, stopping right in front of him, looking up, the five centimeters that set them apart. Pretty much the only thing that does, it feels like right now. It's a thrilling thought, physical in nature, inherently sexual. You could fill me out and I could fill you out in turn.
Sameness.
Claude smiles. ]
There's nothing we have to show the world until we want to.
[ Reaching up with one hand, he slips his fingers into the hair by Jean Louis' temple, already loosened by his handling of it earlier, smoothening it back, yuppie-style, like Jean Louis apparently likes it, and cradles the back of the other man's head gently. Before he leans up and kisses him, hard, insistent. The wine is gone. There's only the dark-edged undertone of Jean Louis himself, the wetness of his spit, the heat of his mouth, the depth of him. It's making Claude groan into him.
Until you want to, it says. Besides, Claude and him - they're not the world, either of them. They can be something else, maybe even more than that. At least tonight. Together. ]