[ Jean Louis remains a presence against his upper backside, shoulder blades, shoulders and the nape of his neck, lips kissing him, tongue licking over his shoulder, the pressure of his body, the weight of him - heavy and comforting, keeping him in place while his fingers slide in, then out, then oh fuck yes prostate and his cock is achingly hard now, leaking precum all over his stomach and the sheets. He shifts a bit helplessly, moaning at the back of his throat where it won't become too loud, high-pitched or shrill. Because trust him, he can get shrill. He remembers from back then, he can reach heights you wouldn't think his otherwise deep voice could manage.
Warning him with a slight probe of two fingers, Claude relaxes and lets him, lets him inside, two fingers at once, pushing into him to the knuckles in a firm, easy, smooth slide and Claude is panting hard now, face pressed sideways into the mattress, staring at nothing but the shadows around them, curls falling into his eyes. Oh, fuck. It's so good. How could he forget how good this part is, the outstroke, prostate... ]
Fuck, Jean Louis -- [ He makes a very restrained whining sound as the other man withdraws his fingers halfway, then back in, repeat, something that could be rhythm, but is definitely pressure and fullness. Shit. He shifts again, his balls tight and almost hurting from it. From want. ] If it gets much better, I'm gonna come, fucking hell.
[ Spreading his legs invitingly, the muscles of his thighs tight and trembling, Claude presses his forehead into the mattress and tries not to be loud, Céline won't ever stop letting him hear for it, if he wakes her up while fucking, but he's almost on the verge of not caring. Not caring about his sisters or his mother or his party or his politics, his principles, any of it. He just wants Jean Louis fucking inside him, he wants to feel him there, where he's been empty for so long, been empty since everything ended and nothing began.
Something is beginning, tonight. In the future, they're gonna fuck in dark alleys and for hours on Saturday mornings. He... He wants them to have that kind of relationship.
He wants them to have a relationship, full stop. They need to verbalize that, probably, later, when he's come and Jean Louis has come with him and they're one again. He needs the other man to know, he wants them to be together, going forward. He wants them to be together, future tense. He wants them to be together, repeatedly. Until he can't fucking walk anymore.
He wants... Easing up on his knees a little bit, giving himself room but at the same time, pushing his ass well and truly up against the other man's fingers, meeting them, chasing the stroke, the slide, the push against prostate himself, Claude reaches underneath himself and closes his fingers around his cock, near the base, starving off his arousal a bit, just reigning himself in.
no subject
Warning him with a slight probe of two fingers, Claude relaxes and lets him, lets him inside, two fingers at once, pushing into him to the knuckles in a firm, easy, smooth slide and Claude is panting hard now, face pressed sideways into the mattress, staring at nothing but the shadows around them, curls falling into his eyes. Oh, fuck. It's so good. How could he forget how good this part is, the outstroke, prostate... ]
Fuck, Jean Louis -- [ He makes a very restrained whining sound as the other man withdraws his fingers halfway, then back in, repeat, something that could be rhythm, but is definitely pressure and fullness. Shit. He shifts again, his balls tight and almost hurting from it. From want. ] If it gets much better, I'm gonna come, fucking hell.
[ Spreading his legs invitingly, the muscles of his thighs tight and trembling, Claude presses his forehead into the mattress and tries not to be loud, Céline won't ever stop letting him hear for it, if he wakes her up while fucking, but he's almost on the verge of not caring. Not caring about his sisters or his mother or his party or his politics, his principles, any of it. He just wants Jean Louis fucking inside him, he wants to feel him there, where he's been empty for so long, been empty since everything ended and nothing began.
Something is beginning, tonight. In the future, they're gonna fuck in dark alleys and for hours on Saturday mornings. He... He wants them to have that kind of relationship.
He wants them to have a relationship, full stop. They need to verbalize that, probably, later, when he's come and Jean Louis has come with him and they're one again. He needs the other man to know, he wants them to be together, going forward. He wants them to be together, future tense. He wants them to be together, repeatedly. Until he can't fucking walk anymore.
He wants... Easing up on his knees a little bit, giving himself room but at the same time, pushing his ass well and truly up against the other man's fingers, meeting them, chasing the stroke, the slide, the push against prostate himself, Claude reaches underneath himself and closes his fingers around his cock, near the base, starving off his arousal a bit, just reigning himself in.
Hoarsely, ]
Give me a second. I want to come on your cock.