[ Claude isn't completely sure what he'd expected. Not what he gets. He knows what he's offering, he knows the scope of it well enough, Jean Louis could make him do anything, could do anything to him and he'd give, he'd take. But what Jean Louis does is to slip into his arms, like a whisper of bedsheets against your skin, and then he's suddenly closer than close, their chests pressed together, their stomachs, their crotches. He can feel the heavy, warm outline of the other man's hard cock, desperately, throbbing hard.
Still, what Jean Louis asks for is his mouth and not on his dick, but on himself, against his lips and they're parting, they're kissing suddenly, tongues and spit and wetness and Claude feels him, closer than close. He feels him, wanting closer than close. And he knows, without the shadow of a doubt, they need to stay connected like this, they can't break apart until it's really over. Until it's in order to say goodbye.
So, dropping the condom with his other hand, off to the side, he reaches up and runs his fingers through Jean Louis' hair, from his temple and down to the neckline, softens his fingertips where they stroke over his scalp, caressing him. Gently. He makes a soft groaning sound into his mouth, kissing him back in kind, tongue and hot breath, but it's not a violent kiss, it's passionate but not like that. It's connect. It's want - but to touch, to be in touch. He likes it. It feels considerate. Caring.
Humming into the kiss once, he draws back - both for breath and to quickly withdraw his hand from Jean Louis' hair to lick it over, tasting hair product and sweat and the heavy, dark taste of the other man. He likes it, he likes how many facets he's allowed to glimpse. His now very wet hand, he slips down between their bodies, keeping the pace slow, thoughtful, patient. He runs spit-slick fingers up the underside of Jean Louis' cock slowly, one time, before closing them around the shaft, angling his wrist right. ]
Sure, I'm following.
[ It's muttered, low and hoarsely, against Jean Louis' mouth, against his lips before Claude kisses him again, careful with the pressure he's applying - to his noticeably swollen lips, to his cock, both. It's Claude taking the lead on this from the backseat, keeping Jean Louis in his sights. The kiss is soft and warm and he's smiling throughout it, beginning to stroke up along Jean Louis' length, weighing the girth of him against the tip of his fingers, curled around him and following the whole shape of his cock, stroking his palm carefully over the head of his cock before repeating the motion, down, up.
It's a full embrace. It's accommodating everything the other man's got, all that he is. ]
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Still, what Jean Louis asks for is his mouth and not on his dick, but on himself, against his lips and they're parting, they're kissing suddenly, tongues and spit and wetness and Claude feels him, closer than close. He feels him, wanting closer than close. And he knows, without the shadow of a doubt, they need to stay connected like this, they can't break apart until it's really over. Until it's in order to say goodbye.
So, dropping the condom with his other hand, off to the side, he reaches up and runs his fingers through Jean Louis' hair, from his temple and down to the neckline, softens his fingertips where they stroke over his scalp, caressing him. Gently. He makes a soft groaning sound into his mouth, kissing him back in kind, tongue and hot breath, but it's not a violent kiss, it's passionate but not like that. It's connect. It's want - but to touch, to be in touch. He likes it. It feels considerate. Caring.
Humming into the kiss once, he draws back - both for breath and to quickly withdraw his hand from Jean Louis' hair to lick it over, tasting hair product and sweat and the heavy, dark taste of the other man. He likes it, he likes how many facets he's allowed to glimpse. His now very wet hand, he slips down between their bodies, keeping the pace slow, thoughtful, patient. He runs spit-slick fingers up the underside of Jean Louis' cock slowly, one time, before closing them around the shaft, angling his wrist right. ]
Sure, I'm following.
[ It's muttered, low and hoarsely, against Jean Louis' mouth, against his lips before Claude kisses him again, careful with the pressure he's applying - to his noticeably swollen lips, to his cock, both. It's Claude taking the lead on this from the backseat, keeping Jean Louis in his sights. The kiss is soft and warm and he's smiling throughout it, beginning to stroke up along Jean Louis' length, weighing the girth of him against the tip of his fingers, curled around him and following the whole shape of his cock, stroking his palm carefully over the head of his cock before repeating the motion, down, up.
It's a full embrace. It's accommodating everything the other man's got, all that he is. ]