[ Claude... keeps going. He's basically just holding on at this point. Trying desperately to keep his breathing at least somewhat even, Jean Louis loses that particular fight somewhere between Claude beginning to bob his head up and down (shit, rhythm, oh, shit) and him, cupping his balls and rolling them between his fingers. He's ridiculously sensitive in any and all possible places and Claude's treating him with just the right kind of carefulness, the kind that he couldn't describe to anyone if they'd asked. It's fortunate, really, that Claude never has. He just understands, it seems, and Jean Louis still isn't certain how that works, only that it does. Fuck, does it work.
When Claude moans and shifts, it takes his pleasure-addled brain a few seconds to realise that he isn't touching himself at all - he's using both his hands. Jean Louis cranes his neck a little to see, having to blink to focus enough at this point, and - yes. Claude's cock looks painfully hard, red at the tip, and he licks his lips without thinking, just as Claude gives a particularly good suck.
Gasping, he clears his throat, swallows for good measure and manages in a tone of voice that's nowhere near even or impressive: ]
You - you need to - [ He groans and shifts back on the bed, his left arm trembling from holding himself up. ] - you should touch yourself. Enjoy it with me.
[ He runs his hand through Claude's hair again, slowly now, before cupping the back of his neck. Then, slowly, he leans himself backwards until he can't go any further, back fully against the bed, and allows himself to simply... lay down. Relax. The throbbing in his shoulder immediately fades into the background, the wetness of Claude's mouth around his cock and the added sensation of his fingers against him - thigh, balls - creating the most perfect pace, not too fast, gentle, because Claude is like that.
Consequently, when they're together, so is he.
He leans his head back and closes his eyes, his hips shifting very, very slightly upwards whenever Claude takes him into his mouth, creating that slide, the sense of friction between the other man's lips. His breathing is loud, ragged. ]
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When Claude moans and shifts, it takes his pleasure-addled brain a few seconds to realise that he isn't touching himself at all - he's using both his hands. Jean Louis cranes his neck a little to see, having to blink to focus enough at this point, and - yes. Claude's cock looks painfully hard, red at the tip, and he licks his lips without thinking, just as Claude gives a particularly good suck.
Gasping, he clears his throat, swallows for good measure and manages in a tone of voice that's nowhere near even or impressive: ]
You - you need to - [ He groans and shifts back on the bed, his left arm trembling from holding himself up. ] - you should touch yourself. Enjoy it with me.
[ He runs his hand through Claude's hair again, slowly now, before cupping the back of his neck. Then, slowly, he leans himself backwards until he can't go any further, back fully against the bed, and allows himself to simply... lay down. Relax. The throbbing in his shoulder immediately fades into the background, the wetness of Claude's mouth around his cock and the added sensation of his fingers against him - thigh, balls - creating the most perfect pace, not too fast, gentle, because Claude is like that.
Consequently, when they're together, so is he.
He leans his head back and closes his eyes, his hips shifting very, very slightly upwards whenever Claude takes him into his mouth, creating that slide, the sense of friction between the other man's lips. His breathing is loud, ragged. ]