[ It doesn't take long, because Jean Louis has waited, the way you have to wait for some things in life, and sometimes for a painfully, unfairly long time. He thinks about what the other man said about no one else and he feels strangely priviliged to be given this experience, this moment in time with him. Like he's someone, in comparison. Being someone is a nice feeling, it's only human to want not to be reduced.
And when he comes, Jean Louis whimpers against him, his body shaking, muscles working, twitching, reacting to him beneath his skin and Claude holds him, cradles the back of his head where he's pressing his forehead against his shoulder, hiding in the darkness between Claude's neck and jaw. There's room, he thinks. Jean Louis can sit there, like Claude sat in his mouth, in his throat. It's an equal transaction.
Not that the world needs more transactions. It needs more empathy. Compassion.
Stroking him until he's spent, Claude withdraws his hand slowly, softly, not even bothering to wipe off his cum although he should, honestly. This isn't exactly the safest sex practice he's ever done, but it's lovely. Jean Louis is lovely and he doesn't want to go home, it's at least two in the morning and he'll only be crashing in a hotel he doesn't even like, alone. He'll get second thoughts. He might even have regrets, though he shouldn't, nothing to regret here. All because, if he leaves now, Rainier will follow him, and Claude is sick of being followed.
This is preferable. This, breathing in and out, feeling Jean Louis fall into the same rhythm. Like mirrors. Like reflections. Same.
Claude holds him, turning his head in against the side of his face and murmurs, ]
I'll stay.
[ Let's not worry about it, it means, either of us. The room smells of their essences, how they've merged and Claude can't think of a stronger descriptor than that. How they're a little bit one right now.
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And when he comes, Jean Louis whimpers against him, his body shaking, muscles working, twitching, reacting to him beneath his skin and Claude holds him, cradles the back of his head where he's pressing his forehead against his shoulder, hiding in the darkness between Claude's neck and jaw. There's room, he thinks. Jean Louis can sit there, like Claude sat in his mouth, in his throat. It's an equal transaction.
Not that the world needs more transactions. It needs more empathy. Compassion.
Stroking him until he's spent, Claude withdraws his hand slowly, softly, not even bothering to wipe off his cum although he should, honestly. This isn't exactly the safest sex practice he's ever done, but it's lovely. Jean Louis is lovely and he doesn't want to go home, it's at least two in the morning and he'll only be crashing in a hotel he doesn't even like, alone. He'll get second thoughts. He might even have regrets, though he shouldn't, nothing to regret here. All because, if he leaves now, Rainier will follow him, and Claude is sick of being followed.
This is preferable. This, breathing in and out, feeling Jean Louis fall into the same rhythm. Like mirrors. Like reflections. Same.
Claude holds him, turning his head in against the side of his face and murmurs, ]
I'll stay.
[ Let's not worry about it, it means, either of us. The room smells of their essences, how they've merged and Claude can't think of a stronger descriptor than that. How they're a little bit one right now.
And how that's very much okay with him. ]