Yes, Vincent says, whimpers - although it's blurring into a plea, but Claude will take it anyway. The sound of his voice an echo of simple, unadulterated want and Claude's cock responding by positively leaking all over the sheepskins. He'll need to slip his laundry lady some extra, to get rid of such revealing stains from already difficult material, but the money will be well spent, if you ask him. Sucking in a sharp breath, he leaves the other man's nipple be, because there's more important territory waiting ahead, further down and the pace is catching up with his own system now, too. Thus, he pushes himself slowly down Vincent's front, one hand keeping him pinned at the midriff and the other wandering through an angelically blonde forest of pubic hair, closing tightly around the base of Vincent's cock. When he turns his head to the side, he's staring down Vincent's flat stomach, directly at an Eiffel Tower-esque beauty of length and steely strength, the foreskin fully retracted. He doesn't hear himself curse under his breath, all he can truly focus on is his own need to taste it. Feel the hardness of it, get acquainted with the flavour, the texture of his fluids and... With one last, hard shove (all but crushing Vincent's frame into their bedding), Claude moves on eye level with the entire thing. Slowly releases his grasp, flexing his wrist enough to stroke the length, substituting his palm with his lips once the head bursts through the tight hole of his curling fingers. It's throbbing warmly against his tongue as he licks softly over the exposed skin, tip slipping into the slit and following the curve underneath the head, continuing forever and ever. He hollows his cheeks, breathes through his nose and sucks in another inch, the feeling of penetration amazing.

Fluting has always been a weirdly ambivalent practice to him. It's faster and less laborious than buggering, but perhaps for those very reasons, it has also always seemed more mechanic to him. Heartless, somehow. Claude might simply have spent too many years on his knees in front of Ludovic and his harem, but it took Pavel to truly teach him the wonders of it. Lips and tongue and the tight constriction of throat. He groans. Presses his tongue up against the pronounced string running along the underside of Vincent's cock, knowing just how the pressure will make everything burst.