Claude’s voice comes last – following the touch of his lips against his jaw, his hair soft against Vincent’s brow and his breath hot. Eyes falling shut, Vincent feels himself blush harder than ever, his hand tightening slightly in Claude’s hair. Perfect, he says. Perfect. The word reverberates inside his mind, very much a singularity amidst what feels like heaps of disapproval and disregard. He never complains because life is what it is – but with Claude lying right here, presenting such a different view, such a fantastical one, he can’t help the sense of overwhelming relief. If someone like this would… then surely, he’s not quite as wrong as his daily existence might imply. Surely not.
About to lean down and kiss him once more, having already realised that he’ll never get enough of Claude’s amazing mouth, he pauses at the feel of Claude’s hand slipping down between them. Heading in just the right direction too, though if he really… Christ, he can’t… Eyes snapping open, he gasps out loud as Claude wraps his fingers around his cock, realising very late indeed that he’s… grasping the both of them. Leaving them rubbing against each other, an almost maddeningly soft slide of skin on skin. His fingers feel so good, his palm hot and tight… It’s a wholly instinctual thing (natural), falling into step with him and Vincent’s rocking his hips back and forth before he knows it, thrusting into his grip.
“Oh – oh, Claude, that’s perfect, that’s so… good…” His words are broken up by his shattered breathing, eyes still closed and sweat forming on his brow. The heat from the fire only adds to the overall sensation of nearness, of being so very close to someone else, to this particular man. Of being encased. Pleasure rushing down the shaft of his cock with every move of his lower body, he reaches down blindly and rests his palm over Claude’s hand, a mirror of his actions earlier when Vincent’s hands couldn’t quite manage his shirt or the consequences. This time, however, there’s no insecurity left – just that odd sort of assertiveness again, the unconscious realisation that this is right, this is exactly right and he knows what to do to make it work.
no subject
About to lean down and kiss him once more, having already realised that he’ll never get enough of Claude’s amazing mouth, he pauses at the feel of Claude’s hand slipping down between them. Heading in just the right direction too, though if he really… Christ, he can’t… Eyes snapping open, he gasps out loud as Claude wraps his fingers around his cock, realising very late indeed that he’s… grasping the both of them. Leaving them rubbing against each other, an almost maddeningly soft slide of skin on skin. His fingers feel so good, his palm hot and tight… It’s a wholly instinctual thing (natural), falling into step with him and Vincent’s rocking his hips back and forth before he knows it, thrusting into his grip.
“Oh – oh, Claude, that’s perfect, that’s so… good…” His words are broken up by his shattered breathing, eyes still closed and sweat forming on his brow. The heat from the fire only adds to the overall sensation of nearness, of being so very close to someone else, to this particular man. Of being encased. Pleasure rushing down the shaft of his cock with every move of his lower body, he reaches down blindly and rests his palm over Claude’s hand, a mirror of his actions earlier when Vincent’s hands couldn’t quite manage his shirt or the consequences. This time, however, there’s no insecurity left – just that odd sort of assertiveness again, the unconscious realisation that this is right, this is exactly right and he knows what to do to make it work.