It takes him longer than it should, perhaps, to realise that he’s being watched. Truth be told, he’s too busy watching - because Claude may have a beautiful body in general, regardless of his state of dress but Vincent isn’t a fool. The past many nights, he’s been staring himself blind from his spectator seat, not at a fully-dressed and proper man but at a semi-naked god. And as Claude reveals his upper body, each layer of fabric shed without any traces of hesitation (the confidence, he thinks, of a man who doesn’t need to flaunt his riches), he finds himself almost transfixed by the sight of him. The golden layer of his costume has been rinsed away, of course, but even without it, there’s a tint of colour to his skin that Vincent’s white complexion couldn’t attain even with the right kind of summer exposure. Pausing, he sits back without truly thinking, eyes narrowing very slightly in the darkness as he takes him in – the flat expanses of skin, stretched out effortlessly over the pronounced muscles in his chest and upper arms. Though every male dancer on stage has a special sort of bodily appeal for the way they train themselves – yes, he’s been looking, he couldn’t help it – Claude’s… there’s something different about him. Still. Objectively speaking, not just because Vincent’s trousers are getting tighter by the second.
Realising exactly what Claude’s looking at, Vincent shifts hurriedly forward, a rush of colour spreading in his face again. Is it wrong of him, sitting here, mostly dressed when Claude’s quite obviously… ? Without meaning to (or maybe not), his gaze shifts downwards to Claude’s trousers, the bulge between his legs visible beneath his breeches. The sight – and the thought that follows – makes him pause with his hands clutching his knees, fingers digging in with almost painful force. All he can think is that this is perfect – this is what he’s always… Except in his dreams, he knew exactly what to do and how to proceed, whereas now… Looking away, he fingers the buttons on his vest, movements sloppy and uncoordinated as he works them open one at a time. Shrugging out of it, he leaves it on the chair, beyond caring enough to treat it with respect. It’s old, it’s worn, it’s basically dead.
Shirt falling more loosely around his body, he finally toes out of his socks. The floor is cool beneath his feet but he’s too busy returning his hungry gaze to the half-naked man in front of him to care. His mind is already running ahead of him, his body yearning to touch, to grip and to hold and to… to… With a frown, he tears his gaze away and gets to work on his shirt, getting about three buttons down before he’s got to take a break, breathing and fingers working too fast, out of step.
no subject
Realising exactly what Claude’s looking at, Vincent shifts hurriedly forward, a rush of colour spreading in his face again. Is it wrong of him, sitting here, mostly dressed when Claude’s quite obviously… ? Without meaning to (or maybe not), his gaze shifts downwards to Claude’s trousers, the bulge between his legs visible beneath his breeches. The sight – and the thought that follows – makes him pause with his hands clutching his knees, fingers digging in with almost painful force. All he can think is that this is perfect – this is what he’s always… Except in his dreams, he knew exactly what to do and how to proceed, whereas now… Looking away, he fingers the buttons on his vest, movements sloppy and uncoordinated as he works them open one at a time. Shrugging out of it, he leaves it on the chair, beyond caring enough to treat it with respect. It’s old, it’s worn, it’s basically dead.
Shirt falling more loosely around his body, he finally toes out of his socks. The floor is cool beneath his feet but he’s too busy returning his hungry gaze to the half-naked man in front of him to care. His mind is already running ahead of him, his body yearning to touch, to grip and to hold and to… to… With a frown, he tears his gaze away and gets to work on his shirt, getting about three buttons down before he’s got to take a break, breathing and fingers working too fast, out of step.