As he’s been riding on instinct the entire time, Vincent does in some way note the way Claude’s slowly ascents from pleasure to pure, sexual gratification. There’s something about the way he pushes forward into his mouth, something about the way his muscles tighten and his breathing gets steadfastly more desperate… yes. The signs are there. But it does shake him out of his post-orgasmic haze, the way it feels when Claude quite simply spends himself down his throat, his cock going down that last, crucial inch. He can’t gasp – he can’t breathe, can’t moan, can’t do anything besides swallow for all that he’s worth, all the while wondering what it would have tasted like on the back of his tongue. As it is, he mostly gets the texture - thick, heavy, slick. It goes down easily enough, much easier than the girth of Claude’s cock, his jaw aching from the strain of taking it in, his lips almost numb. Pulling back gingerly, he feels oddly empty as he wipes a hand across his mouth, tongue wetting his lips almost subconsciously. Christ. Christ. Between his legs, his own cock is as hard as before, wetness dripping from its tip. His hand has stilled, however, every part of his body equally breathless.
He never thought… he’s often imagined himself doing this, taking another man’s cock. Licking it all up, so to speak. But he’s never thought that he’d actually… Face heating up, the aftermath threatening to crash over him all at once, he looks down at nothing, the sheepskins taking up his field of vision with an almost calming neutrality. His heart is beating too fast, however, because all the white can’t mask the taste of skin and arousal still coating the inside of his mouth. As it will for many, many nights to come. He’s aware of Claude looking at him, collapsing in a not quite dignified heap of (beautiful, amazing) limbs. Vincent wants nothing more than to simply… close the distance once more, maybe ask for the chance to give it another try, maybe simply attempt it…
It’s like two, separate parts fighting for dominance inside of him – and the worst part is, he knows with absolute certainty which one he’s rooting for.
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He never thought… he’s often imagined himself doing this, taking another man’s cock. Licking it all up, so to speak. But he’s never thought that he’d actually… Face heating up, the aftermath threatening to crash over him all at once, he looks down at nothing, the sheepskins taking up his field of vision with an almost calming neutrality. His heart is beating too fast, however, because all the white can’t mask the taste of skin and arousal still coating the inside of his mouth. As it will for many, many nights to come. He’s aware of Claude looking at him, collapsing in a not quite dignified heap of (beautiful, amazing) limbs. Vincent wants nothing more than to simply… close the distance once more, maybe ask for the chance to give it another try, maybe simply attempt it…
It’s like two, separate parts fighting for dominance inside of him – and the worst part is, he knows with absolute certainty which one he’s rooting for.