Claude takes the opportunity to shove his cock even further down Vincent’s throat – a very slight push, nothing rude or overwhelming but enough to make Vincent’s breath catch as he fights for another gulp of air, his mouth and throat almost utterly blocked out. Oh, but he’s got a tight grip on his hair, doesn’t he? Just a little bit rough, a little bit less considerate and isn’t that just a pleasure worth having all on its own? Taking in another inch, he only just stops himself from gagging, keeping still for half a second before pulling back once again, the length of Claude’s cock sliding out between his lips. He doesn’t let him go completely, though – doesn’t want to, not now when he’s finally got him. Instead, he steels himself for his own, physical response and swallows him down as far as he can, the base of his cock only inches away from his nose. Gods. It’s… oh.
His cock is waking up again between his legs, a dull throbbing along the shaft and in his groin. He shifts slightly. It’s hard, completely so, the head pressed against his stomach. A rush of air leaving his lungs through his nose, he goes with the most instinctual response he can manage – and sets a pace with his mouth, rocking his head back and forth in a rather lewd imitation of, well. Intercourse, supposedly. Some day, he may just get the chance to polish his terminology. Some day. He can’t quite help it, though – with his free hand, he strokes himself slowly, just a bit hesitantly. It may be ridiculous, seeing as he’s currently busy taking a relative stranger’s cock down his throat but all the same, there’s something very… personal about masturbation. Something he’s always associated with guilt and shame, his dirty body and mind working against him.
Right now, however, he’s so hard that doing nothing at all would be distracting. And with Claude’s cock sliding back and forth between his lips like this, with those wonderful sounds he makes, distractions simply won’t be tolerated. All of it – regret, restraint, anger – he’ll be saving that. For when the fire no longer burns and the shadows return to their usual state of eating him up from the inside.
no subject
His cock is waking up again between his legs, a dull throbbing along the shaft and in his groin. He shifts slightly. It’s hard, completely so, the head pressed against his stomach. A rush of air leaving his lungs through his nose, he goes with the most instinctual response he can manage – and sets a pace with his mouth, rocking his head back and forth in a rather lewd imitation of, well. Intercourse, supposedly. Some day, he may just get the chance to polish his terminology. Some day. He can’t quite help it, though – with his free hand, he strokes himself slowly, just a bit hesitantly. It may be ridiculous, seeing as he’s currently busy taking a relative stranger’s cock down his throat but all the same, there’s something very… personal about masturbation. Something he’s always associated with guilt and shame, his dirty body and mind working against him.
Right now, however, he’s so hard that doing nothing at all would be distracting. And with Claude’s cock sliding back and forth between his lips like this, with those wonderful sounds he makes, distractions simply won’t be tolerated. All of it – regret, restraint, anger – he’ll be saving that. For when the fire no longer burns and the shadows return to their usual state of eating him up from the inside.