Vincent may feel like Heaven – and what a metaphor, so fitting of this thing between them despite what anyone else would think – but Claude sounds like it, too, his voice broken up by pants, dark and heavy against his lips. Everything is a blend of sensations, of Claude’s hands in his hair, a grip, steadiness. His body, strong and hard beneath his own. And the feel of Claude’s magnificent cock sliding back and forth against his palm and the underside of his shaft, wetness coating his fingers and making the movements slippery. God. God. How can any of this be wrong, how can it possibly be anything other than perfectly right, exactly as it ought to be? Pleasure shooting through his crotch and lower body as he follows Claude’s movements, he leans down to recapture his lips, pausing only to breathe. To gasp, rather, like a man close to drowning, except like this the only true fear is loss - loss of the element Claude’s helping him claim, finally, after all too many years.
“You’re amazing.” His French is reduced to a bunch of syllables thrown together, his lips moving against Claude’s, tongue drawing wet patterns against his mouth. “Claude. You’re better than anything else, the absolute best.” There’s a tremble in his voice as Claude fingers his nipple into hardness, his body almost overly sensitive from arousal. He can feel it building now, in his groin and further down – the edge waiting for him not too many more minutes ahead, waiting for him to throw himself right off it in a way he never has before. There’s something about Claude, about lying here with him and pleasuring him with his own, quiet desperation – it’s making him believe that maybe, just maybe, rather than crushing himself when everything’s said and done, he might possibly take flight instead.
Keeping his hand as steady as he can, fingers locked around their cocks and managing the whole, combined girth only just, he draws away from the kiss, feeling strangely oversaturated. His world is getting steadfastly narrower, body working against his mind to reach its goal. But oh, how he’d like to prolong it – to make this last all night and maybe all day, too. If he thinks about it too much, however, he’ll have to think about the end and he couldn’t possibly, not now. There’s nothing there to pursue. Where as here with Claude…
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“You’re amazing.” His French is reduced to a bunch of syllables thrown together, his lips moving against Claude’s, tongue drawing wet patterns against his mouth. “Claude. You’re better than anything else, the absolute best.” There’s a tremble in his voice as Claude fingers his nipple into hardness, his body almost overly sensitive from arousal. He can feel it building now, in his groin and further down – the edge waiting for him not too many more minutes ahead, waiting for him to throw himself right off it in a way he never has before. There’s something about Claude, about lying here with him and pleasuring him with his own, quiet desperation – it’s making him believe that maybe, just maybe, rather than crushing himself when everything’s said and done, he might possibly take flight instead.
Keeping his hand as steady as he can, fingers locked around their cocks and managing the whole, combined girth only just, he draws away from the kiss, feeling strangely oversaturated. His world is getting steadfastly narrower, body working against his mind to reach its goal. But oh, how he’d like to prolong it – to make this last all night and maybe all day, too. If he thinks about it too much, however, he’ll have to think about the end and he couldn’t possibly, not now. There’s nothing there to pursue. Where as here with Claude…
Everything’s within reach.