[ He can feel Claude falling back into place beneath him, the tension in his body seemingly changing, becoming... softer, pliant, perhaps. It's contagious. The tension that's hung in his muscles and mind the whole day and evening as a lead-up and a follow-up both to his Italian Christmas conversation is slipping slowly but surely into the background. He thinks about Claude opening the small box - like you'd known me for years, he'd said. A resounding success, surely, if that's what he wanted to achieve by it and he's slowly coming to realise that around Claude, he's never completely sure. Does he want approval? Affection? Compliance? All answers seem too simple, somehow.
As he gets to his feet to rummage, however, he thinks that maybe all of this is it. The gift. Claude's expression. The tear tracks still faintly visible on his cheeks. The feel of him, pressed against his front, holding on because for some reason, the man's seen a place of safety within him when in reality, there's nothing there at all.
But Jean Louis wants the illusion of it.
He finds lube and condoms after a few seconds, weighing them in his hand briefly. Claude wants to be fucked and certainly, he's happy to oblige - his cock, in particular, is getting a bit ahead of itself, more than half-way hard and straining against the silk of his bottoms. But another part of him, one that never fails to think no matter how high his arousal goes, keeps remembering the wetness in Claude's voice, the pain. It doesn't frighten him, of course, pain never has. But it makes him alert.
Pay attention. ]
Roll over.
[ He straightens, facing the bed and Claude who looks a little small against it all of a sudden. Yes, he'd be easy to break, particularly now that someone else has already fractured his foundation - then again, such fractures can be filled and depending on how you do it, they can be strengthened beyond their original capabilities, too. Depending on how. He steps closer, keeping his bottoms on for now and waits for Claude to lie down and get properly comfortable. He unscrews the lid on the lube, tossing it backwards without looking, straight into the open washbag.
no subject
As he gets to his feet to rummage, however, he thinks that maybe all of this is it. The gift. Claude's expression. The tear tracks still faintly visible on his cheeks. The feel of him, pressed against his front, holding on because for some reason, the man's seen a place of safety within him when in reality, there's nothing there at all.
But Jean Louis wants the illusion of it.
He finds lube and condoms after a few seconds, weighing them in his hand briefly. Claude wants to be fucked and certainly, he's happy to oblige - his cock, in particular, is getting a bit ahead of itself, more than half-way hard and straining against the silk of his bottoms. But another part of him, one that never fails to think no matter how high his arousal goes, keeps remembering the wetness in Claude's voice, the pain. It doesn't frighten him, of course, pain never has. But it makes him alert.
Pay attention. ]
Roll over.
[ He straightens, facing the bed and Claude who looks a little small against it all of a sudden. Yes, he'd be easy to break, particularly now that someone else has already fractured his foundation - then again, such fractures can be filled and depending on how you do it, they can be strengthened beyond their original capabilities, too. Depending on how. He steps closer, keeping his bottoms on for now and waits for Claude to lie down and get properly comfortable. He unscrews the lid on the lube, tossing it backwards without looking, straight into the open washbag.
Perfect aim in all things, thank you. ]