He steps inside and shuts the door, his fingers trembling as he turns the key. Can’t blame it entirely on the cold, either, can he, what with heat spreading through his body with increasing persistence. Though the steps were harsh on his… his arousal from their doings in the alleyway, they haven’t truly killed it to any noticeable degree. From all those sweaty nights, he knows quite well that it’s not even as hard as it could be – but it’s making his movements just a bit stiff, regardless, as he turns back towards Claude, the door safely locked behind him. Following the other man’s movements, the flames lightening up the room with that particular abruptness only reserved for fire (in whichever incarnation), he stands still, hands clenching an unclenching by his sides.
Make yourself comfortable, he said. Well, please. Comfortable is what he’d like to be but the road to getting there… He swallows again, reaching up to loosen his collar somewhat, feeling choked up and overheated. Without another word, he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it away to the side. It’s like a replica of his last visit, only not at all. How many times hasn’t he seen this very room, emerging through the darkness of his dreams with all its coloured lamps and the expanses of floor clearing away his mental barriers? And with all of Paris, stretching beyond the windows? How many times, indeed. It doesn’t exactly help him now.
As Claude loosens his bowtie, Vincent finally catches up with his body in full and consequently, the situation too. If he wanted to fool himself into thinking that this was merely politeness on Claude’s part once again, he’d have no legs to stand on to maintain the illusion any longer. Instead, he very stiffly removes his dinner jacket, too, the faded black satin cool and soft between his fingers. His shirt feels very white all of a sudden, the simple, dark-green vest properly buttoned up, yet slightly loose around his frame. It’s always the same between spring and summer – once winter’s finally release its grip on the world, it takes his body a bit of time to replenish itself. Not that it matters right now, what with Claude being… right there, possibly more than ready to… He steps closer, if nothing else then to take advantage of the heat slowly filling up the room.
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Make yourself comfortable, he said. Well, please. Comfortable is what he’d like to be but the road to getting there… He swallows again, reaching up to loosen his collar somewhat, feeling choked up and overheated. Without another word, he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it away to the side. It’s like a replica of his last visit, only not at all. How many times hasn’t he seen this very room, emerging through the darkness of his dreams with all its coloured lamps and the expanses of floor clearing away his mental barriers? And with all of Paris, stretching beyond the windows? How many times, indeed. It doesn’t exactly help him now.
As Claude loosens his bowtie, Vincent finally catches up with his body in full and consequently, the situation too. If he wanted to fool himself into thinking that this was merely politeness on Claude’s part once again, he’d have no legs to stand on to maintain the illusion any longer. Instead, he very stiffly removes his dinner jacket, too, the faded black satin cool and soft between his fingers. His shirt feels very white all of a sudden, the simple, dark-green vest properly buttoned up, yet slightly loose around his frame. It’s always the same between spring and summer – once winter’s finally release its grip on the world, it takes his body a bit of time to replenish itself. Not that it matters right now, what with Claude being… right there, possibly more than ready to… He steps closer, if nothing else then to take advantage of the heat slowly filling up the room.