Watching Vincent slowly sink down over his cock, mouth gaping wide and lips forming the most beautiful circle Claude currently remembers ever having seen, he thinks back on the first time he sucked cock himself. How old was he? Fifteen? Sixteen? Oh, he wasn't nearly as good about it as Vincent is now either, drawing back slowly when his eyes start to water from the sheer depth of it. Antonin got showered in spit and musky breathing while Claude coughed his trachea into compliance and it really took them a few tries to figure out the mechanics. God knows how long to perfect them. It's been a long time since then...
And even with tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, Vincent soldiers on, penetrating himself on Claude's cock all over again, perhaps by sheer force of will, but certainly... moaning the entire way. Claude curses, loudly this time, knuckles going white where he's keeping himself in position with his hand disappearing amongst the coarse hairs of the sheepskins. Tentatively, he repeats the motion of his hips, pushing forward slowly. Surely. Surely. Vincent's enjoyment is vibrating heavily all around the head of his cock and the pleasure is immense. Heaving a harsh breath through gritted teeth, he hardly even notices how his fingers in Vincent's hair have tightened, keeping his head in place. Rather, his focus is on the movement itself, pushing forward, pushing forward -- It's so tight that it's almost unbearable, almost. So good, go good.
What he wants to tell Vincent is how he's free to draw back whenever. How Claude doesn't want to make it uncomfortable for him, doesn't want to pressure him - yet, what he does say is an unguarded flow of don't stop, just take it, please, take all of it and he's not even halfway as ashamed of himself as he feels he ought to be. Not when his balls are tightening up this fast.
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And even with tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, Vincent soldiers on, penetrating himself on Claude's cock all over again, perhaps by sheer force of will, but certainly... moaning the entire way. Claude curses, loudly this time, knuckles going white where he's keeping himself in position with his hand disappearing amongst the coarse hairs of the sheepskins. Tentatively, he repeats the motion of his hips, pushing forward slowly. Surely. Surely. Vincent's enjoyment is vibrating heavily all around the head of his cock and the pleasure is immense. Heaving a harsh breath through gritted teeth, he hardly even notices how his fingers in Vincent's hair have tightened, keeping his head in place. Rather, his focus is on the movement itself, pushing forward, pushing forward -- It's so tight that it's almost unbearable, almost. So good, go good.
What he wants to tell Vincent is how he's free to draw back whenever. How Claude doesn't want to make it uncomfortable for him, doesn't want to pressure him - yet, what he does say is an unguarded flow of don't stop, just take it, please, take all of it and he's not even halfway as ashamed of himself as he feels he ought to be. Not when his balls are tightening up this fast.