[ Off comes the briefs, finally, fuck. Claude shifts a bit impatiently, breathing shuddering out of him. Especially as Jean Louis spits in his hand, the other pressing against Claude's hip, along the hipbone, like pressure and weight against his pelvic region, like support, like calm and Claude looks down at him, at the way he moves as he closes his fingers around the shaft of Claude's cock, his hold firm and wet and Claude groans, then, biting his lower lip once while the other man rubs his thumb over the head, the foreskin retracted and showing the whole curve of it, putting him on display. His balls feel heavy like lead.
Not getting better when Jean Louis decides to fucking speak, because of course he's a talker, show Claude a politician who doesn't do the filthiest dirty talking, because they're all obsessed with their own voices. Their own voices and the voices of others. Another helpless shift, Claude reaches down with his free hand and brushes his sweat-slick fingers over Jean Louis' hand on his hip, just one firm touch to say, hold me, I can't on my own and I want you to.
It should scare him. He hasn't wanted anyone else to hold him for years. He hasn't trusted anyone to do it with care since Rainier, because Rainier certainly didn't. Still, here, between them like this, it's easier. It's like their bodies are their safe spaces and wherever they connect, overlap, touch? It's doubly safe.
Claude has never tried anything like it before. It makes the blush in his cheeks spread down his neck, over the topmost of his chest. Honestly, he's burning up. ]
I think you can take me as far as you want.
[ It means a myriad of things, it means, where there's will there's a way, which he doesn't even believe in and it means, you can do whatever you like, you're killing me already just as much as it means, I don't give a fuck, just do it, do it, I'm begging you. All of it wrapped in prettier wrapping, made more digestible and indefinitely easier to swallow, right? Easy to swallow. He sucks in a breath on Jean Louis' third stroke, his cock jumping against his palm in eagerness.
Claude reaches up and more or less harshly buries his fingers in the other man's hair, smoothening it back along his scalp, feeling the curve of his head, thinking about the curve of his own, on his cock, where the thumb goes, where everything blurs together and feels like too much and too little at once. ]
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Not getting better when Jean Louis decides to fucking speak, because of course he's a talker, show Claude a politician who doesn't do the filthiest dirty talking, because they're all obsessed with their own voices. Their own voices and the voices of others. Another helpless shift, Claude reaches down with his free hand and brushes his sweat-slick fingers over Jean Louis' hand on his hip, just one firm touch to say, hold me, I can't on my own and I want you to.
It should scare him. He hasn't wanted anyone else to hold him for years. He hasn't trusted anyone to do it with care since Rainier, because Rainier certainly didn't. Still, here, between them like this, it's easier. It's like their bodies are their safe spaces and wherever they connect, overlap, touch? It's doubly safe.
Claude has never tried anything like it before. It makes the blush in his cheeks spread down his neck, over the topmost of his chest. Honestly, he's burning up. ]
I think you can take me as far as you want.
[ It means a myriad of things, it means, where there's will there's a way, which he doesn't even believe in and it means, you can do whatever you like, you're killing me already just as much as it means, I don't give a fuck, just do it, do it, I'm begging you. All of it wrapped in prettier wrapping, made more digestible and indefinitely easier to swallow, right? Easy to swallow. He sucks in a breath on Jean Louis' third stroke, his cock jumping against his palm in eagerness.
Claude reaches up and more or less harshly buries his fingers in the other man's hair, smoothening it back along his scalp, feeling the curve of his head, thinking about the curve of his own, on his cock, where the thumb goes, where everything blurs together and feels like too much and too little at once. ]