The hallway has been positively decked. There are lit candles everywhere and freshly cut flowers in the vases that are otherwise usually left empty, as decorative pieces on their own. Vincent has really gone to some trouble here, making everything look like a girl’s wettest dream. Well, and a secret dream of Claude’s, though he’d rather not have to admit to it. He’s a romantic at heart, yes – that part of it he isn’t ashamed to acknowledge, but what exactly that implies… Vincent knows him better than that, of course and perhaps it’s the way his hand has just been grabbing Claude’s cock, but somehow it’s turned out very non-demasculinizing. Against all odds. Flowers and candles and bows on the cats. Who would have thought?

Speaking of cock-grabbing. His cock is feeling awfully abandoned all of a sudden, as it has all week. Being away is always somewhat of a strain, sexually. Wanking simply doesn’t beat Vincent’s blowjobs and has nothing on anal, but he’s had to settle in lack of better, hasn't he? Following Vincent’s lead now, they make their way towards the bedroom slowly, Vincent walking backwards with his hands on Claude’s hips. His body is definitely responding to the promises lingering in the air between them and raising one eyebrow, Claude lets his hands settle on Vincent’s shoulders.

“Getting me hard is probably the only way you could make me forget about my growling stomach, Vincent.” A pause. His hands folding behind the other man’s neck, turning the touch into more of an embrace. “Well done.”

A general sentiment. Including everything. The food, the candles, the flowers, even the stupid cats.