Rude as it may be (but he did tell Vincent that manners weren't his strongest point), Claude only halfway listens to the other man as he rants on about the rich and their games. Mostly he just notes that it's something they should definitely discuss at a later date, at some point when Vincent's cock isn't so obviously distracted and Claude, as a consequence, equally so. Vincent trails off without apologising for himself and compared to the introduction of their previous night, it's already quite the improvement. Smiling, Claude listens to his shallow breathing, eyes moving only slowly from his hands clasped in his lap, blocking his view of even the slightest semblance of hardness (seeing as Vincent's fingers are all elegance and lines and soft, soft skin) to his face, burning red from embarrassment. Honestly, he finds it completely captivating, how Vincent navigates the waters with such an unspoiled attitude. The men he knows from Marais have all been ruined a little too much and a little too soon, himself included. Vincent isn't like that, not yet at least. A frown. The smile fades gradually. Claude draws back somewhat, arm still a warm embrace along the pronounced shoulder blades that spread out like wings across Vincent's back. If he can help it, there's a never to be added to Vincent's future, in that regard. If he can in any way help it. If Vincent will let him.
"There's a place I go sometimes," he begins, a bit hesitantly despite himself. It's not that he feels any sort of shame in relation to his familiarity with Ganyméde, firstly it's a pure Paradise in comparison to certain establishments in the surrounding area, but mostly because the games that they play there wouldn't be necessary had they lived in a society that was ready to accept them as equals. He's not going to willingly carry with him a guilt that's made necessary not by him, but by everyone else. "A gentleman's lounge. For people like --" Another pause, as he's once more forced to weigh his words. He doesn't want to assume anything. Hell, enjoying to flute doesn't automatically place you within their circle, simply because it does place you outside society's conception of the normal man at large. "-- me. If you want, I'd love for you to accompany me."
It's an open invitation, bordering on a request. He doesn't specify a time, he doesn't even make it as unspecific as someday. He quite simply holds it out on flat palms, with no intention to take even a little finger, if Vincent does take his first.
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"There's a place I go sometimes," he begins, a bit hesitantly despite himself. It's not that he feels any sort of shame in relation to his familiarity with Ganyméde, firstly it's a pure Paradise in comparison to certain establishments in the surrounding area, but mostly because the games that they play there wouldn't be necessary had they lived in a society that was ready to accept them as equals. He's not going to willingly carry with him a guilt that's made necessary not by him, but by everyone else. "A gentleman's lounge. For people like --" Another pause, as he's once more forced to weigh his words. He doesn't want to assume anything. Hell, enjoying to flute doesn't automatically place you within their circle, simply because it does place you outside society's conception of the normal man at large. "-- me. If you want, I'd love for you to accompany me."
It's an open invitation, bordering on a request. He doesn't specify a time, he doesn't even make it as unspecific as someday. He quite simply holds it out on flat palms, with no intention to take even a little finger, if Vincent does take his first.