[ Claude, as it turns out, isn't very good at being quiet. That's not surprising. Jean Louis smiles thinly, focused as he is on other things, as Claude tells him he's gonna come, fucking hell and I want to come on your cock, just spouting dirty talk like it's his new, favourite kind of proposition. Jean Louis, meanwhile, has to shift again, his movements rougher now as his arousal goes up, his balls aching with tension. Claude's arse is warm and tight around his fingers and he keeps thinking about what he'll be like when he sinks into him for real, the full length of his cock, just buried to the hilt. He groans against Claude's shoulder, fucking into him harder with his fingers, meeting the push of Claude's arse. Keep going like this, there'll be a rhythm and a pace to it and yeah, eventually this will become a finger-fucking session rather than what Claude's actually asking for.
Won't do, of course.
He nods against Claude's shoulder and pulls both fingers out carefully, rubbing the tips over his rim a few times, feeling the muscle twitch in response. Then, he rolls onto his side and twists out of his pajama bottoms, pushing them to the floor with his feet. His cock's hard against his stomach and wet at the tip. Quickly, he unwraps the condom and rolls it on, not too much finesse, before he coats his palm in lube once more and slicks himself up. Turning onto his hip, one hand holding the condom in place, he looks at Claude for a moment before leaning down, kissing a wet trail from the small of his back and up the length of his spine. He follows his own path all the way to Claude's neck and shifts onto his knees, positioning himself above the other man, one leg on either side of his body.
Like that, slowly, he lowers himself until his front is pressed against Claude's back. He takes a firm grip on himself and guides his cock along the crack of Claude's arse, finding his arsehole easily now that he's spent the past minutes fingering it open. He presses the head of his cock against it without pushing in, feeling the rim stretch and give, opening around him. He breathes roughly, his pulse quickening - in a moment, in a moment - ]
Tell me again.
[ And the unspoken echoes underneath: That you want it. What you want. Tell me. Say it out loud. His voice is a hoarse whisper against the side of Claude's head, lips brushing against his ear. ]
[ Jean Louis' fingers slip out carefully, just rubbing over his rim as they go and leaving Claude's asshole gaping wide, leaving him feeling open and exposed and there for the taking, and he fucking loves that feeling, he loves giving himself over - when it's Jean Louis, when it's that man, it's fine, he doesn't mind it. He wants it, he wants it so bad.
Making an dissatisfied sound as the other man's fingers finally slip out completely, shifting and holding himself off, Claude eases up on his knees a bit more as Jean Louis goes about the practicalities, condom, lube, making everything ready for easy interlocking, right, if you wanna be really grossly mechanical about it. He wants Jean Louis all the way inside, he wants to feel the full length of him, hard and throbbing, inside his ass, he wants him to sit there a long moment, filling him out, and then Claude wants him to fuck him until everything that cracked before is filled, too. It's actually a pretty easy thing. You'd think. But it's taken so long to get here. And so many people, it's taken as well.
When Jean Louis is ready, he doesn't speed up, he doesn't force himself, instead kissing a wet trail up Claude's spine, making everything tingle, his asshole contracting a few times at the feeling. Once he gets as far as Claude's nape, the low dip of his neck there, he positions himself over him, making Claude's balls draw up almost painfully and he tightens his grip on himself, face still pressed into the mattress and it's good like this, it's close, it's safe. He is panting hard, feeling the other man trace his cock over his gaping asshole, thinking it'll fit, that they can fit like that.
Leaning in over him, so he's got his whole weight in over his backside and it's almost overwhelming, there's a brief moment where he remembers the dining room table and Rainier, breathing heavily against him, but then it's gone, like it's been magically disspelled and there's only Jean Louis' voice, tell me again, and the hoarse whisper of his exhalations against the side of Claude's face. He whimpers, literally whimpers, shifting, shifting, pushing back, desperate for it. ]
I want to feel your cock, I want you to make me come from it.
[ He shivers against Claude's back, his words making his arousal feel urgent, his body tingling all over. With a low groan, he kisses the side of Claude's neck, right near the nape, and pushes in. The resistance is minimal - Claude wants it, his body is basically wide open, waiting to swallow him up - and as he pushes in all the way to the base, he pauses only a couple of times to let the other man catch up to him, feeling the way his body responds and responding in kind. In that way, sex really is the closest, most instinctual kind of communication that he knows. It feels so self-evident. Eyes falling shut, he rolls his hips slowly, finding his way into the other man's body until he can't go any deeper. The tightness and warmth around his cock is almost impossible - his mind takes a moment to fully comprehend it but once he feels it, he's there. ]
Fuck, you feel -
[ He swallows his next words, everything in his body telling him to move, to get that sense of friction, of thrust. He breathes hard against the side of Claude's neck and pulls out halfway before thrusting back inside. ]
- ah - you feel good. Perfect.
[ He folds his left arm around Claude's front, over chest and collarbones, taking the pressure off his bad shoulder and pulling Claude just a bit upwards, up against his own chest and closer. He's not being harsh about it - after all, the human body isn't a fucking noodle, it doesn't just stretch in any and all directions - but insistent, all the same. Come here, it means. He starts fucking him slowly, keeping the rhythm deep rather than hurried, the bed creaking beneath them. The heat in his belly doubles and he's breathing harshly, working himself in and out, his pace even.
He can feel his own climax building, his balls tight and drawn. Shifting, he angles himself in an approximation of his fingers, earlier, going for Claude's prostate and expecting to get it. As Claude said, he has experience. And experience is only worth as many benefits as it reaps. ]
[ The moment he might have feared, if he wasn't so busy being swallowed up by arousal, is the moment when Jean Louis pushes in, past his rim and slowly, slowly seating himself in his body, inch by inch by fucking inch and his cock feels like a fucking baseball bat, doesn't it? He feels like something massive and all-encompassing that is overtaking his body from within and Claude loves it, he sinks into the feeling of not being empty any longer, not being alone. He's not alone in this, there's physical proof, physical fullness to prove he isn't. Jean Louis pushes in, drawing back, making Claude whine slightly and instinctually tighten around him, to keep him there, but of course he pull out and of course, he pushes in again and Claude follows the rhythm of it. The slow pace, the carefulness. He's very grateful, really. He is.
He's also just very fucking horny.
When Jean Louis folds his arm around his chest and heaves him up, it takes all Claude's fucking willpower not to come on the spot, his fingers tightening around his hard, throbbing cock, holding himself back, forcing himself to hold, stay, come here, Jean Louis says to finish it all off and he supports himself on his other arm, elbow digging into the mattress and his whole back arching sharply, feeling every thrust of Jean Louis' hips into the bones of him.
The pace is even and unhurried and Claude basically wants to scream, moaning loudly at this point when Jean Louis aims for his prostate and gets it just right, his cock spurting precum between his fingers. He's panting harshly, not even trying to keep quiet anymore, the bed creaking in time with their movements and his body feeling overheated, throbbing, head to toe. His thigh muscles jerk, almost making him collapse in on himself as Jean Louis hits his prostate. His asshole tightens up harshly, too. ]
Fuck, fuck, do it again, harder... [ A hoarse whimper, his shoulders rolling as he pushes back against the other man's cock, more or less forcing him back inside, over that spot, come here, all right. ] Jean Louis, you feel so fucking hard --
[ Although there are still faint tears streaks on his cheeks, they don't mean anything now, they don't even register. Claude is frowning harshly, eyes closed, his face contorted in pleasure, lips parted, panting, panting hard. ]
[ Claude moves with him, beneath him and around him. It's all-consuming. Eyes shut and breathing hard, Jean Louis follows his movements and does it again - and again - keeping the angle somewhat consistent while he feels his body building up faster and faster. Claude's holding his own cock, he can sense it from the angle of his shoulder and he's not going to make him let go, he's going to let him take his own pleasure the way he wants - however, the noise he's making in this old house with its tiny rooms is a different story. He likes listening to it. He'd like to touch it even better.
So, as he fucks into Claude, burying deep and pushing them both towards the edge without rushing, just doing what works, he folds his hand sloppily around Claude's mouth and chin, muffling his sounds. He kisses him along the side of his face, his temple and his cheekbone, breathing raggedly. ]
Now, Claude. [ He shifts. Kisses the bridge of Claude's nose. ] Be as loud as you want.
[ He takes a deep breath, angles himself properly and drives into him, hard enough to make the bed shake and the floor whine beneath them. The sudden increase in friction, the power of his thrusts, makes his balls tighten up to the point of pain. He ignores it. It's the edge and they're going over it, not with him dragging Claude like Rainier would have done, he would have pushed him and kicked him towards it and what a boring exercise that must have been. What a boring little man. No, he's not dragging Claude at all, he's running with him and for some reason, the thought of Claude taking his hand and just holding it pops into his mind, front and center; the way he does at seemingly random times throughout the day like it's perfectly normal, like anyone's ever done that before -
He gasps. Buries his head in Claude's shoulder by his neck, open-mouthed, teeth scraping over his shoulder as he spends himself on the next thrust, his climax sweeping over him so violently that he can't breathe for it. ]
[ The fucking itself would've been enough on its own, really, the sensation of being full (not empty), close (and not alone), all empty spaces filled with cock and company. It would've been enough to make him come, the way Jean Louis drives into him, hitting his prostate on every other stroke. It would've been enough, if he'd just jerked himself off to that, feeling that, not empty, not alone. It would've been enough, for sure.
But then, Jean Louis clamps his hand over his mouth, leaning in enough to kiss his face gently, more gently than his hand, whispering against him, be as loud as you want. Meaning, I'll take the rest, I'll deal with it, you don't have to worry. You don't have to worry anymore.
It goes both ways, Claude thinks hazily, his vision blurring at this point, as he starts jerking himself off harshly, chasing his climax with desperate zeal. Right back at you, Jean Louis. But that's all he has time to think, because Jean Louis is building it up like a piece of art, taking him there, taking him beyond and there's a moment when he hits his prostate again, when Claude thinks he might either die or fly and he can't decide which it'll be and both would be fine, right now. Right now, it's all good.
At this point, he's sobbing out words without meaning, basic sounds, fuck, fuck, fuck, and when he feels Jean Louis come, first, in him, inside his body, condom notwithstanding, it rises in pitch to something louder and clearer and yet, Jean Louis' hand takes most of it, so when he shouts out his own orgasm, a desperate, broken sound that sounds like a victory cry anyway, because it is, he did it and he did it without Rainier, it sounds more like a muffled hmph. Audible, sure, but not alarming. Not alarming.
Dripping cum all over the mattress, Claude eventually - more or less - collapses onto the bed, knees giving out, arm, shoulders slumping, he's breathing hard into Jean Louis' now very wet and overheated palm and he smells like Claude himself, but also like him and Claude is surrounded by him on all sides. Inside and out. His vision is dark around the edges, probably a lack of oxygen, so he wrestles his face free from Jean Louis' hand, which is easily done, it wasn't forced like that, and turns it towards the other man, where he's pressing in against Claude's shoulder. ]
You're -- [ His breathing is still a little too fast, a little too shallow. His voice sounds raw. ] -- precious, Jean Louis. You're invaluable.
[ You're not your riches or your accomplishments, what you are is mine, it means. ]
[ Claude follows him over the edge moments later, his arse clamping down around him, milking his cock for whatever's left and he groans, his shoulders trembling as he makes one, final thrust. Then, pause. Quiet, except for the sounds of their breaths mingling and the echoes of Claude's cry (he'll hear that when he masturbates for the next many, many days to come, that sound, just Claude letting go, allowing himself).
Slowly, carefully, he eases himself out of Claude's body, holding onto the condom with his free hand, the one that's got the imprints of Claude's breath and his cries and his bravery all over it. Rolling it off, tying it and trowing away takes seconds, seconds that he barely even notices - then, his breathing slow and heavy, he lies down next to Claude, up against his side, nudging Claude until he lies on his side with his back to him. Like that, he curls up around him, twists their legs together and pushes his face into his hair. You're precious, says Claude, pretty words that shouldn't mean anything to him. He's been many things in his life to many people; precious isn't one of them.
Invaluable, he says.
He takes a deep breath. Locks his arm around Claude's waist and reaches for the duvet blindly, managing to wrangle it from beneath them to throw it over Claude, first, himself second. He doesn't like to be covered completely when he sleeps, it makes him feel locked down.
Yes, he's been locked down (and thrown away) many times and logically, that's really not what you do to something precious or invaluable but Claude's not the type to lie so maybe he knows something else about the world, the strange world he inhabits. The rules are different there. It takes something he doesn't know about to live in it.
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no subject
Won't do, of course.
He nods against Claude's shoulder and pulls both fingers out carefully, rubbing the tips over his rim a few times, feeling the muscle twitch in response. Then, he rolls onto his side and twists out of his pajama bottoms, pushing them to the floor with his feet. His cock's hard against his stomach and wet at the tip. Quickly, he unwraps the condom and rolls it on, not too much finesse, before he coats his palm in lube once more and slicks himself up. Turning onto his hip, one hand holding the condom in place, he looks at Claude for a moment before leaning down, kissing a wet trail from the small of his back and up the length of his spine. He follows his own path all the way to Claude's neck and shifts onto his knees, positioning himself above the other man, one leg on either side of his body.
Like that, slowly, he lowers himself until his front is pressed against Claude's back. He takes a firm grip on himself and guides his cock along the crack of Claude's arse, finding his arsehole easily now that he's spent the past minutes fingering it open. He presses the head of his cock against it without pushing in, feeling the rim stretch and give, opening around him. He breathes roughly, his pulse quickening - in a moment, in a moment - ]
Tell me again.
[ And the unspoken echoes underneath: That you want it. What you want. Tell me. Say it out loud. His voice is a hoarse whisper against the side of Claude's head, lips brushing against his ear. ]
no subject
Making an dissatisfied sound as the other man's fingers finally slip out completely, shifting and holding himself off, Claude eases up on his knees a bit more as Jean Louis goes about the practicalities, condom, lube, making everything ready for easy interlocking, right, if you wanna be really grossly mechanical about it. He wants Jean Louis all the way inside, he wants to feel the full length of him, hard and throbbing, inside his ass, he wants him to sit there a long moment, filling him out, and then Claude wants him to fuck him until everything that cracked before is filled, too. It's actually a pretty easy thing. You'd think. But it's taken so long to get here. And so many people, it's taken as well.
When Jean Louis is ready, he doesn't speed up, he doesn't force himself, instead kissing a wet trail up Claude's spine, making everything tingle, his asshole contracting a few times at the feeling. Once he gets as far as Claude's nape, the low dip of his neck there, he positions himself over him, making Claude's balls draw up almost painfully and he tightens his grip on himself, face still pressed into the mattress and it's good like this, it's close, it's safe. He is panting hard, feeling the other man trace his cock over his gaping asshole, thinking it'll fit, that they can fit like that.
Leaning in over him, so he's got his whole weight in over his backside and it's almost overwhelming, there's a brief moment where he remembers the dining room table and Rainier, breathing heavily against him, but then it's gone, like it's been magically disspelled and there's only Jean Louis' voice, tell me again, and the hoarse whisper of his exhalations against the side of Claude's face. He whimpers, literally whimpers, shifting, shifting, pushing back, desperate for it. ]
I want to feel your cock, I want you to make me come from it.
no subject
Fuck, you feel -
[ He swallows his next words, everything in his body telling him to move, to get that sense of friction, of thrust. He breathes hard against the side of Claude's neck and pulls out halfway before thrusting back inside. ]
- ah - you feel good. Perfect.
[ He folds his left arm around Claude's front, over chest and collarbones, taking the pressure off his bad shoulder and pulling Claude just a bit upwards, up against his own chest and closer. He's not being harsh about it - after all, the human body isn't a fucking noodle, it doesn't just stretch in any and all directions - but insistent, all the same. Come here, it means. He starts fucking him slowly, keeping the rhythm deep rather than hurried, the bed creaking beneath them. The heat in his belly doubles and he's breathing harshly, working himself in and out, his pace even.
He can feel his own climax building, his balls tight and drawn. Shifting, he angles himself in an approximation of his fingers, earlier, going for Claude's prostate and expecting to get it. As Claude said, he has experience. And experience is only worth as many benefits as it reaps. ]
no subject
He's also just very fucking horny.
When Jean Louis folds his arm around his chest and heaves him up, it takes all Claude's fucking willpower not to come on the spot, his fingers tightening around his hard, throbbing cock, holding himself back, forcing himself to hold, stay, come here, Jean Louis says to finish it all off and he supports himself on his other arm, elbow digging into the mattress and his whole back arching sharply, feeling every thrust of Jean Louis' hips into the bones of him.
The pace is even and unhurried and Claude basically wants to scream, moaning loudly at this point when Jean Louis aims for his prostate and gets it just right, his cock spurting precum between his fingers. He's panting harshly, not even trying to keep quiet anymore, the bed creaking in time with their movements and his body feeling overheated, throbbing, head to toe. His thigh muscles jerk, almost making him collapse in on himself as Jean Louis hits his prostate. His asshole tightens up harshly, too. ]
Fuck, fuck, do it again, harder... [ A hoarse whimper, his shoulders rolling as he pushes back against the other man's cock, more or less forcing him back inside, over that spot, come here, all right. ] Jean Louis, you feel so fucking hard --
[ Although there are still faint tears streaks on his cheeks, they don't mean anything now, they don't even register. Claude is frowning harshly, eyes closed, his face contorted in pleasure, lips parted, panting, panting hard. ]
no subject
So, as he fucks into Claude, burying deep and pushing them both towards the edge without rushing, just doing what works, he folds his hand sloppily around Claude's mouth and chin, muffling his sounds. He kisses him along the side of his face, his temple and his cheekbone, breathing raggedly. ]
Now, Claude. [ He shifts. Kisses the bridge of Claude's nose. ] Be as loud as you want.
[ He takes a deep breath, angles himself properly and drives into him, hard enough to make the bed shake and the floor whine beneath them. The sudden increase in friction, the power of his thrusts, makes his balls tighten up to the point of pain. He ignores it. It's the edge and they're going over it, not with him dragging Claude like Rainier would have done, he would have pushed him and kicked him towards it and what a boring exercise that must have been. What a boring little man. No, he's not dragging Claude at all, he's running with him and for some reason, the thought of Claude taking his hand and just holding it pops into his mind, front and center; the way he does at seemingly random times throughout the day like it's perfectly normal, like anyone's ever done that before -
He gasps. Buries his head in Claude's shoulder by his neck, open-mouthed, teeth scraping over his shoulder as he spends himself on the next thrust, his climax sweeping over him so violently that he can't breathe for it. ]
no subject
But then, Jean Louis clamps his hand over his mouth, leaning in enough to kiss his face gently, more gently than his hand, whispering against him, be as loud as you want. Meaning, I'll take the rest, I'll deal with it, you don't have to worry. You don't have to worry anymore.
It goes both ways, Claude thinks hazily, his vision blurring at this point, as he starts jerking himself off harshly, chasing his climax with desperate zeal. Right back at you, Jean Louis. But that's all he has time to think, because Jean Louis is building it up like a piece of art, taking him there, taking him beyond and there's a moment when he hits his prostate again, when Claude thinks he might either die or fly and he can't decide which it'll be and both would be fine, right now. Right now, it's all good.
At this point, he's sobbing out words without meaning, basic sounds, fuck, fuck, fuck, and when he feels Jean Louis come, first, in him, inside his body, condom notwithstanding, it rises in pitch to something louder and clearer and yet, Jean Louis' hand takes most of it, so when he shouts out his own orgasm, a desperate, broken sound that sounds like a victory cry anyway, because it is, he did it and he did it without Rainier, it sounds more like a muffled hmph. Audible, sure, but not alarming. Not alarming.
Dripping cum all over the mattress, Claude eventually - more or less - collapses onto the bed, knees giving out, arm, shoulders slumping, he's breathing hard into Jean Louis' now very wet and overheated palm and he smells like Claude himself, but also like him and Claude is surrounded by him on all sides. Inside and out. His vision is dark around the edges, probably a lack of oxygen, so he wrestles his face free from Jean Louis' hand, which is easily done, it wasn't forced like that, and turns it towards the other man, where he's pressing in against Claude's shoulder. ]
You're -- [ His breathing is still a little too fast, a little too shallow. His voice sounds raw. ] -- precious, Jean Louis. You're invaluable.
[ You're not your riches or your accomplishments, what you are is mine, it means. ]
no subject
Slowly, carefully, he eases himself out of Claude's body, holding onto the condom with his free hand, the one that's got the imprints of Claude's breath and his cries and his bravery all over it. Rolling it off, tying it and trowing away takes seconds, seconds that he barely even notices - then, his breathing slow and heavy, he lies down next to Claude, up against his side, nudging Claude until he lies on his side with his back to him. Like that, he curls up around him, twists their legs together and pushes his face into his hair. You're precious, says Claude, pretty words that shouldn't mean anything to him. He's been many things in his life to many people; precious isn't one of them.
Invaluable, he says.
He takes a deep breath. Locks his arm around Claude's waist and reaches for the duvet blindly, managing to wrangle it from beneath them to throw it over Claude, first, himself second. He doesn't like to be covered completely when he sleeps, it makes him feel locked down.
Yes, he's been locked down (and thrown away) many times and logically, that's really not what you do to something precious or invaluable but Claude's not the type to lie so maybe he knows something else about the world, the strange world he inhabits. The rules are different there. It takes something he doesn't know about to live in it.
For now, he'll accept that as truth. ]