The tug alone would have been enough, really, to communicate that particular message. He pauses, looking at Claude sort of blankly before reaching down between his legs with one hand, cupping his palm over the bulge in his trousers. Noticeable, though not overly prominent. Yet. But touch is touch and right now, he makes it a good one.

“Because I know you.” Palm closing over his cock, he turns his touch into a grip. Pulls upwards just a bit, enough to partially mirror Claude’s hand in his hair seconds earlier, before letting his hand slide up to his hip. “And I agree. With you and your cock.” Because clearly, the man has already consented to sex before dinner, whether his mind actively knows it or not.

Stepping backwards, he pulls Claude towards the bedroom (PAST the kitchen doorway – damn right!), movements almost lazily casual and easy. They’re too old to dance a tango in the hallway in his opinion, but this is just right and very much doable. He’s been lighting candles all afternoon – stupid fucking things nearly burned his fingers off on multiple occasions – and the result is pretty nice-looking. With tiny lights on every applicable surface and fresh flowers in every vase. All details that would make him girlish to some, stylish to others and at this very moment, with Claude, he knows which option he prefers.