He rests his chin lightly against Claude’s shoulder, mouthing a semi-wet trail from his jaw and over his neck, a mindless exercise. His mind is drowning once more, first in the feel of Claude’s body pressed up against his, warm and solid – and then, second, the feel of his hand, trailing downwards over his hipbone. Happily, the touch isn’t light enough to make his skin twitch; instead, his breathing simply slows down almost on cue, trembling still as Claude’s hand closes around the length of his cock. God. Eyes falling shut, he lifts up slightly, enough to support his weight on his elbow (and not, as an alternative, on Claude’s turned head). Craning his neck only slightly, he buries his nose in the hairs along Claude’s neck, his scent rounded and hot, leaving his breathing just a bit less restricted in return.
The words are harder to process than the physical caresses and it’s not that he doesn’t want to hear it, it’s just… it’s just. It’s painful to believe sometimes, isn’t it? And tonight, the pain’s no less real even if belief is a foreign concept, something new and very-much untried. Shifting, he breathes out shakily as Claude starts stroking his cock, the pace and the roughness of his palm exactly perfect. Hips working with small but powerful jerks, he lets Claude take him close to the edge once more, the need for release more subtle but no less urgent than before. Rather than settling primarily in his balls and along the shaft of his cock, it’s a feeling rooted deep within his core, rushing through his blood almost faster than the pulse of his heart.
Behind his eyelids, there’s pressure building, too. It’s familiar and unwelcome, always unwelcome, but right now he can’t be bothered to hold it back, afraid to affect the climax approaching fast within his system. It’s a question of priorities, just like this night in its entirety, like the money he spends on ballet tickets rather than new clothes or food. Thus, he simply bends his head, leaving his hair to fall across his forehead and eyes and hopefully obscure what’s bound to come, even as his climax starts building in his thighs and lower back. Seconds, minutes later, it erupts – all over Claude’s fingers and shaking through his body like a quake, forcing water from his eyes as well. This time, he’s soundless, forehead resting against Claude’s shoulder and neck, hands resting limply against the sheepskins.
no subject
The words are harder to process than the physical caresses and it’s not that he doesn’t want to hear it, it’s just… it’s just. It’s painful to believe sometimes, isn’t it? And tonight, the pain’s no less real even if belief is a foreign concept, something new and very-much untried. Shifting, he breathes out shakily as Claude starts stroking his cock, the pace and the roughness of his palm exactly perfect. Hips working with small but powerful jerks, he lets Claude take him close to the edge once more, the need for release more subtle but no less urgent than before. Rather than settling primarily in his balls and along the shaft of his cock, it’s a feeling rooted deep within his core, rushing through his blood almost faster than the pulse of his heart.
Behind his eyelids, there’s pressure building, too. It’s familiar and unwelcome, always unwelcome, but right now he can’t be bothered to hold it back, afraid to affect the climax approaching fast within his system. It’s a question of priorities, just like this night in its entirety, like the money he spends on ballet tickets rather than new clothes or food. Thus, he simply bends his head, leaving his hair to fall across his forehead and eyes and hopefully obscure what’s bound to come, even as his climax starts building in his thighs and lower back. Seconds, minutes later, it erupts – all over Claude’s fingers and shaking through his body like a quake, forcing water from his eyes as well. This time, he’s soundless, forehead resting against Claude’s shoulder and neck, hands resting limply against the sheepskins.