Right? The question almost escapes him, focused as he is on the teasing proximity of Vincent's front, close enough to emit warmth and strength and promise (their cocks bumping almost playfully - Claude's muscles trembling in response), but Claude does see Vincent's lips move and the sound follows closely after. He smiles as Vincent's fingers dig into his hair again, angling his head into the caress, lifting his chin enough to let his lips brush lightly along that sinful jawline. Not until he reaches the other man's ear does he reply. "It's perfect," he says. Breathes heavily over Vincent's earlobe, his nose burying into soft strands of hair coloured a deep red by the fire. "You're perfect, Vincent."
It's more than a compliment, of course. Claude isn't cheap with his compliments ever - he'll give praise when praise is due and he is so very good at seeing the positives, yes? Telling Vincent that he's perfect goes beyond niceties, however. It's not merely for the sake of appearances, because the man certainly has appearances covered, look at him. Claude takes a deep breath and shifts beneath Vincent's body, pushing his cock up along the beautifully long length of Vincent's, the pleasure of the sudden slide of skin against skin almost maddening. He closes his eyes. Rests his forehead against Vincent's cheek as he reaches down between them again and wraps his fingers around both their girths this time. He's got big hands, but no piano-fingers like Vincent. He can't close the circle completely, but he doesn't need perfection anyway. Not here. Not with Vincent halfway pulling him along and halfway dragging the both of them to these momentary halts that are good for contemplation. Consideration. The important things.
With a slow, steady, firm rhythm, he starts stroking their cocks, together. Pushing in against his own fingers, in against the underside of Vincent's cock at the same time, the backside of his eyelids is a soothing brown that goes well with Vincent's scent in his nostrils - a heated blend of sweat and need. Want. If Vincent wants to take over, he will be Claude's guest, but as any good host he figured a tour of the premises will serve as a safe start.
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It's more than a compliment, of course. Claude isn't cheap with his compliments ever - he'll give praise when praise is due and he is so very good at seeing the positives, yes? Telling Vincent that he's perfect goes beyond niceties, however. It's not merely for the sake of appearances, because the man certainly has appearances covered, look at him. Claude takes a deep breath and shifts beneath Vincent's body, pushing his cock up along the beautifully long length of Vincent's, the pleasure of the sudden slide of skin against skin almost maddening. He closes his eyes. Rests his forehead against Vincent's cheek as he reaches down between them again and wraps his fingers around both their girths this time. He's got big hands, but no piano-fingers like Vincent. He can't close the circle completely, but he doesn't need perfection anyway. Not here. Not with Vincent halfway pulling him along and halfway dragging the both of them to these momentary halts that are good for contemplation. Consideration. The important things.
With a slow, steady, firm rhythm, he starts stroking their cocks, together. Pushing in against his own fingers, in against the underside of Vincent's cock at the same time, the backside of his eyelids is a soothing brown that goes well with Vincent's scent in his nostrils - a heated blend of sweat and need. Want. If Vincent wants to take over, he will be Claude's guest, but as any good host he figured a tour of the premises will serve as a safe start.