[ Claude pushes in against him, audibly breathing him in and pressing his hands to his chest, fingers spread out, taking up space. There's a desperation to it, to his movements, that makes perfect sense and consequently, Jean Louis doesn't move, simply supports him - hand in his hair, hand against his back. From this exact point in time, he'll need the other man to take the next step for them; he could do it, certainly, Jean Louis, but as has been the case with Claude since meeting him for the first time, he... worries about setting the wrong pace or picking the wrong track with him. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing you can re-trace or delete.
Just as Claude carries Rainier's mistakes with him even now, even here, he would carry Jean Louis' as well. If he were to stoop.
Like he told Camille, he doesn't gamble with his treasures.
After a moment, Claude pushes his face against the side of his neck and he's clearly been crying if he isn't still, though he isn't doing so audibly. The thought makes his chest tighten, though he never cries himself; there's something about seeing it in others, the helplessness associated with tears that he doesn't like. Claude's breathing sounds ragged, though when he leans in and parts his lips over Jean Louis' throat, it feels equal parts hot and wet. Jean Louis looks at him, frowning slightly. I'm starting now, he says and there's pain in his voice, still, along with certainty, something that feels strong and unyielding, traits that are also Claude's to a fault.
He looks at Claude for another moment through the shadows. Then, carefully, he rolls Claude onto his back on the bed, moving with him, until they're once again front to front. He keeps his balance on his knees to avoid putting all his weight on the other man and leans in, kissing his way up the side of his neck slowly. ]
And how would you like to start?
[ He nibbles at Claude's ear, his curls tickling his nose. Jean Louis breathes him in, in turn. ]
no subject
Just as Claude carries Rainier's mistakes with him even now, even here, he would carry Jean Louis' as well. If he were to stoop.
Like he told Camille, he doesn't gamble with his treasures.
After a moment, Claude pushes his face against the side of his neck and he's clearly been crying if he isn't still, though he isn't doing so audibly. The thought makes his chest tighten, though he never cries himself; there's something about seeing it in others, the helplessness associated with tears that he doesn't like. Claude's breathing sounds ragged, though when he leans in and parts his lips over Jean Louis' throat, it feels equal parts hot and wet. Jean Louis looks at him, frowning slightly. I'm starting now, he says and there's pain in his voice, still, along with certainty, something that feels strong and unyielding, traits that are also Claude's to a fault.
He looks at Claude for another moment through the shadows. Then, carefully, he rolls Claude onto his back on the bed, moving with him, until they're once again front to front. He keeps his balance on his knees to avoid putting all his weight on the other man and leans in, kissing his way up the side of his neck slowly. ]
And how would you like to start?
[ He nibbles at Claude's ear, his curls tickling his nose. Jean Louis breathes him in, in turn. ]