He shouldn't be surprised. By quite a lot of it, of course, but by the shift of language especially. Shouldn't be surprised that Vincent can wield the coarse dictionary of a sailor in a situation that calls for it, but it amuses him even so. Under different circumstances, he might have chuckled, but currently Claude finds himself too preoccupied with keeping his lips wrapped tightly around Vincent's cock while the other man jerks up against his mouth, the urgency and the evident tightening of his balls preparing Claude for what's coming like a courteous warning. No warning needed, however - not with him pushing an additional inch further down over his pulsating length, the head of Vincent's cock sliding along the back of his throat (though, not far enough back to make him gag) and making him close his eyes in enjoyment. There'll be semen pouring into his mouth in a second or two, but the first time is always a fast affair and he doesn't doubt Vincent's virility will leave him starving for more, before Claude even stands a true chance of complaining. Should he want to. He doesn't.

And, a second later, Vincent does spend himself, erupting all over Claude's tongue like a spurting volcano and his semen is hot and thick and burning enough to permit the comparison. Men all taste differently and so do their fluids, Vincent's holding a sharp edge beneath the rounded quality of it. Claude relaxes his throat with relative practice, swallows the entire load and waits for the first bouts of muscle spasms to subside before drawing back, moving into a seated position with his arse on his heels and his palms resting flatly against his own thighs, framing in the very impressive hardness of his cock. It's almost painful. Almost.

Because Vincent does look very, very beautiful this way.