[ As far as you want, Jean Louis says, making the 'you' point back at Claude again and Claude smiles, shakily, while the other man rolls on the condom, definitely showing some practice in the art of smooth appliance of protection, he's done this before. Claude has too, but not like this. Never like this. The way they mirror each other, but not like a hall of mirrors where you stumble and can't find your way or your footing among a multitude of reflections. They only have each other. It's clearer and it's endlessly safer. Claude isn't afraid, it's a strange feeling.
It makes him realize that the most probable reason he's not currently in a relationship and hasn't truly been in any since Rainier is because he's been afraid to. He's been dead scared.
And he isn't, anymore. Well, he isn't, here.
It makes him lose his breath almost as much as when Jean Louis angles his cock outwards, licking up the underside, the rubber taking some of the feeling, but honestly not as much as people - guys - complain about. It just takes a bit more pressure and Jean Louis is giving it, he's giving it good. Claude holds his head all the while, grabs his hair and follows his movements while looking down at him, at the wet slide of his mouth, his lips shining from saliva quickly. Shifting a bit restlessly, though he isn't getting far because Jean Louis is holding him, like he's promised, Claude groans first, before Jean Louis does, letting the tip of Claude's cock press against his lips. A moment to sink into it, the knowledge that in a moment -- in a moment -- and those lips part around him, widely around the head and he's sinking into him, he's sinking into him to the very back, he can feel himself grace the roof of his mouth and his toes curl, almost violently, fuck.
Fuck, he's so hot.
From his position on one elbow, Claude looks down at himself getting fucking devoured. Getting swallowed up. And he moans, then, not a groan, nothing half-hearted about it, just his voice saying, you're amazing, it's good, so good, in no words at all.
This isn't work. This isn't about what he says. There aren't words enough in the world for this feeling.
He shifts again as Jean Louis pulls back, seeing his own cock slide out of his mouth, more length, more shaft, and his eyes narrow for a moment, want clouding his vision a bit near the edges. ]
You're the one who feels good. You feel amazing.
[ And because it isn't about the words, it's about more telltale things than that, he leans forward just enough to slip his hand down over the curve of Jean Louis' skull, to the back of his neck and further down over his shoulder, flattening his palm along the broad line of it, fingers spreading out wide, touching everything that's within reach.
no subject
It makes him realize that the most probable reason he's not currently in a relationship and hasn't truly been in any since Rainier is because he's been afraid to. He's been dead scared.
And he isn't, anymore. Well, he isn't, here.
It makes him lose his breath almost as much as when Jean Louis angles his cock outwards, licking up the underside, the rubber taking some of the feeling, but honestly not as much as people - guys - complain about. It just takes a bit more pressure and Jean Louis is giving it, he's giving it good. Claude holds his head all the while, grabs his hair and follows his movements while looking down at him, at the wet slide of his mouth, his lips shining from saliva quickly. Shifting a bit restlessly, though he isn't getting far because Jean Louis is holding him, like he's promised, Claude groans first, before Jean Louis does, letting the tip of Claude's cock press against his lips. A moment to sink into it, the knowledge that in a moment -- in a moment -- and those lips part around him, widely around the head and he's sinking into him, he's sinking into him to the very back, he can feel himself grace the roof of his mouth and his toes curl, almost violently, fuck.
Fuck, he's so hot.
From his position on one elbow, Claude looks down at himself getting fucking devoured. Getting swallowed up. And he moans, then, not a groan, nothing half-hearted about it, just his voice saying, you're amazing, it's good, so good, in no words at all.
This isn't work. This isn't about what he says. There aren't words enough in the world for this feeling.
He shifts again as Jean Louis pulls back, seeing his own cock slide out of his mouth, more length, more shaft, and his eyes narrow for a moment, want clouding his vision a bit near the edges. ]
You're the one who feels good. You feel amazing.
[ And because it isn't about the words, it's about more telltale things than that, he leans forward just enough to slip his hand down over the curve of Jean Louis' skull, to the back of his neck and further down over his shoulder, flattening his palm along the broad line of it, fingers spreading out wide, touching everything that's within reach.
Holding him, in turn. In the sensitive places. ]