[ Maybe I'm in the market for one, Jean Louis says, discarding the rest of his clothes, baring himself to the skin, the boxers slipping to the floor in a whisper of satin and Claude looks, he looks and looks and looks, noticing the depth of some of his scarring, the curious placement, the curious shape. Someone here is accident-prone. That's what happens with unholy alliances, he's heard. Even so, Claude's own body answers, I'll take it, I'll take all of you and he can't remember when he last met someone in the sexual sphere like this. He's had sex, he's dated, he's given himself over, but he hasn't given himself over with this kind of abandon for a long time (he remembers how long, it just doesn't matter). Rainier gets to define exactly shit anymore.
Right now, his body is willing and his mind is willing right along with it and Claude drowns a little in it, in the feeling of wanting to submit, while simultaneously wanting to have, to take, to own. The perfect full circle of that kind of desire.
Jean Louis' cock is full and hard and bobbing gently against his abdomen, curving upwards in a nice, even line. Thick, dark, throbbing from the blood flow telling on him, exactly how much he wants Claude right now. Claude feels himself tremble as the other man starts towards the bed, a moment of oh shit, this is real followed by a meeker, it better be, it has to, come here. He wants to eat him, be eaten, be devoured, stop existing, be one with his body. That's what he wants.
Climbing over him, the other man leans in over his body, the body he wants to merge so fucking badly, Claude easing down into a more comfortable position on his back, reaching enthusiastically up with both hands to run his hands up his sides, ribcage, over his lower back (more scarring, really accident-prone, huh) from behind to his shoulders, in time with Jean Louis dipping his head, licking a trail from his chest over his collarbone, up his neck. He doesn't try tempering his breath, letting it tumble out of him as it wants, uneven, shaking, a little bit erratic. When Jean Louis kisses him, pushing into him, Claude parting his lips for him, welcoming him in, the fingers of his one hand connects with a large spread of scar tissue along the other man's shoulder blade. He can't see, but as he maps it out, it feels huge, deeply set and jagged, uneven, not clean and clinical.
Accident-prone?
His own cock throbs hard in his briefs, the thin fabric feeling like teasing against the exposed head. He can tell he's leaking precum absolutely everywhere. With a groan, he arches up against the other man's front, wanting to meet him in that, not in the accidents and not in the past, but in how they're both running to leave it behind, high-speed. Together. ]
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Right now, his body is willing and his mind is willing right along with it and Claude drowns a little in it, in the feeling of wanting to submit, while simultaneously wanting to have, to take, to own. The perfect full circle of that kind of desire.
Jean Louis' cock is full and hard and bobbing gently against his abdomen, curving upwards in a nice, even line. Thick, dark, throbbing from the blood flow telling on him, exactly how much he wants Claude right now. Claude feels himself tremble as the other man starts towards the bed, a moment of oh shit, this is real followed by a meeker, it better be, it has to, come here. He wants to eat him, be eaten, be devoured, stop existing, be one with his body. That's what he wants.
Climbing over him, the other man leans in over his body, the body he wants to merge so fucking badly, Claude easing down into a more comfortable position on his back, reaching enthusiastically up with both hands to run his hands up his sides, ribcage, over his lower back (more scarring, really accident-prone, huh) from behind to his shoulders, in time with Jean Louis dipping his head, licking a trail from his chest over his collarbone, up his neck. He doesn't try tempering his breath, letting it tumble out of him as it wants, uneven, shaking, a little bit erratic. When Jean Louis kisses him, pushing into him, Claude parting his lips for him, welcoming him in, the fingers of his one hand connects with a large spread of scar tissue along the other man's shoulder blade. He can't see, but as he maps it out, it feels huge, deeply set and jagged, uneven, not clean and clinical.
Accident-prone?
His own cock throbs hard in his briefs, the thin fabric feeling like teasing against the exposed head. He can tell he's leaking precum absolutely everywhere. With a groan, he arches up against the other man's front, wanting to meet him in that, not in the accidents and not in the past, but in how they're both running to leave it behind, high-speed. Together. ]