downplaying | (( LOG : never without purpose ))

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(( LOG : never without purpose ))

[Characters:] Vincent & Claude
[Date:] 22.12.2016
[Summary:] It's a question of cause and effect.
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[He isn't exactly seething inside (anymore), but he definitely isn't pleased. If Vincent hadn't been so God damn attached to his job, Claude would have contacted the high and mighty Jean Louis Duroc himself and asked for an apology. In written form. Claude might not be all that active in the journalistic world anymore, but he still has all his contacts left and someone would be bound to find it an interesting angle - homophobia endorsed in the State Ministry of Luxembourg. Again, if Vincent wasn't so bloody dedicated to his new position as spin doctor for the State Minister. Claude couldn't do it to him. Not even if it's right. Not even if he'd really like to.

So instead he undresses quickly, to the sound of Vincent showering. Chases the cats out of the bedroom before crawling under the covers, Plato bouncing for the door and Socrates following after at an entirely unhurried pace as is his style. His groove. Claude loves that cat, it's so damn relaxed. Relaxing. There's nothing better than the evenings when it crawls up onto his lap and deems him worthy for pillow, purring gently and inviting a scratch on the head and some heavy (cat) petting. Well, maybe sex is better, but that falls under another category and involves different parties.

... Great and now he's horny, too - on top of being irritated.]

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[Few seconds pass from Vincent has joined him in bed until he's leaning in for a kiss, taking rather than requesting, his tongue pressing in between his lips hungrily and his hand coming up to the back of Claude's head, fingers gripping his hair rather than just running through it. There are no caresses lost between them, here - and Claude is entirely responsive, parting his lips and sliding his tongue up along the slick wetness of Vincent's. He tastes like toothpaste, minty fresh which is in stark contrast to the intent with which he's being kissed. Nothing truly pleasant about it, only pleasurable sensations and the feeling of being well and truly taken care of, in the most basic definition of the term. The very reason that Claude has never minded bottoming - and especially not with Vincent... There's an indescribable intimacy to it, even when it's like this. Hungry and needy and without any restrictions.]

[His grip in Claude's hair tightens a notch as he deepens the kiss, shifting closer. He's got one, overruling goal tonight - to take everything he can without losing sight of Claude amidst his own, selfish cravings. Fact is, if he could simply turn him around, open him up and push his cock into his arse, straight to the base, he'd do so. He wants relief and control, though not in equal measures; but he doesn't want to be a bastard about it, not in any shape or form. Breathing quickening, he draws back and looks at Claude, gaze running downwards from the thoroughly obliging expression on his face, over his chest and abdomen and further; the sheets, pooling unevenly over his lap.

Reaching down, he pushes the sheets away. Closes his hand around Claude's hardening cock, long fingers circling its base. Then, he leans back in, grabbing another kiss as he pulls his hand upwards, a slow but firm kind of movement. He's not asking permission or apologising - just making sure that they're both on the same page.]

[Vincent's long fingers close around the base of his (quickly) hardening cock, a jet of pleasure shooting through him as the other man drags his hand upwards, palm sliding over the skin of his shaft, the stimulation unmistakable. Rough, almost. Feeling his muscles tremble as he attempts not to simply thrust forward with his hips into Vincent's grip, Claude reaches up with one hand to spread out his own fingers over the base of Vincent's neck, kind of but not quite latching on to him. Perhaps for dear life. Sex is important like that, after all.]

Fuck, Vincent...

[People who think Vincent is the angry bottom of their relationship obviously haven't had the fortune of experiencing him like this, though Claude is also aware that even if Vincent were to top someone else in this manner, they'd probably not be shown the same courtesy that he is. Right here. Right now.]

Yeah.

[He draws back (though not out of reach, Claude's hand against his neck more or less a grip at this point), breathing harder now, his hair sticking to his brow already. Shit, Claude really is just what he needs at all times - especially now, though; the way he simply goes along with it, even though he's not really the type to crave or prefer rough sex. Setting a firm, unhurried rhythm, fingers gliding up and down his shaft and thumb pressing against the head of his cock, he jerks Claude off quietly, without his usual stream of words to accompany their quickening breaths. When he's in this kind of mood, Vincent doesn't generally talk much in bed. Doesn't really feel like it, his focus too restricted. He shifts again, feeling the way his cock grows harder almost by the second. He's not going to rush it, though. He may be rough but he's never sloppy.]

[The one thing that's really missing now is Vincent's usual dirty mouth, but Claude has learned over the years that the more pent-up Vincent feels, the less amount of words he's inclined to let out at any given time, also during sex. It took him some time to get used to, because it's such a stark contrast to Vincent in all other situations, utterly unable to keep his mouth shut, but... Well. It's how it is and currently, Vincent is very much letting his body do the talking instead, his palm sliding up and down the shaft of Claude's cock at an even pace. Unhurried, despite everything. Letting his head drop back and arching his back a little, Claude hears himself moan, filling the silence for the both of them. Though, not on Vincent's behalf.

His cock is beginning to leak precome and it never stops occurring to him at this exact time during sex that he's not wearing a condom. That it isn't necessary. That he doesn't need to uphold that level of protection... Really, if you want to be sappy about it, there's something vulnerable in such a conclusion and it adds something vulnerable to the situation, too. Roughness or not.]

[His grip on Claude's cock is growing steadfastly more slippery, sweat and precome making the motion of his hand just a bit smoother and consequently, faster. Upping the pace, things are starting to feel urgent to him; his arousal making him light-headed and his cock almost painfully hard between his legs. Then, Claude moans against him and he feels himself shudder slightly in response, muscles tense from holding back.

Slipping downwards, he licks a wet trail from Claude's chest towards his navel, his skin salty and hot against his tongue. If he'd been about to suck cock mainly for Claude's benefit, he would have taken a longer route to the finish line - but as it is, he follows his impulses entirely, kissing his way down Claude's stomach with just a hint of teeth, gracing his skin. And sucks the head of his cock right into his mouth.]

Fucking Hell --

[The pleasure runs through him like a jolt of electricity as Vincent sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, one abrupt motion - from kissing his stomach (sure, with a hint of teeth, but still) to taking his cock into his mouth. Just like that. Claude's hand slips upwards into Vincent's hair, fingers burying themselves in silky strands and taking hold, because he'll be damned if Vincent plans to deep-throat him at the same rate. He'd come at that very second. The thought alone, of coming down Vincent's throat, highly arousing by itself. He's shuddering slightly from the overwhelming intensity of it, all his muscles taut and his breathing feeling erratic. If Vincent plans to arsefuck him, he better get a move on soon and quit playing around - though, of course, Claude knows that everything Vincent is doing right now is for his own sake, but with that end (ironic choice of words) in sight.]

[Though people express varying opinions on the taste of cock, Vincent has always been convinced that what they're actually tasting is their own breath (unless they're in bed with someone nasty). The scent is personal - and distinctive, too. Claude smells hot and soft at the same time; comforting, kind of, with a touch of something sharper. Vincent loves it and he takes his time now, sliding his lips up and down Claude's shaft, his skin smooth and wet on his tongue.

When he draws back after another minute or so, he feels overheated and overwrought at the same time. Wanting more, wanting to take. Without disturbing Claude's hand in his hair, he pulls away from his cock and looks up at him, eyes narrowed a bit and expression tight.]

I want to fuck you. [He draws away more fully, wiping a hand across his mouth. Softens his voice a bit, words clipped enough as it is.] Turn around.

Don't boss me around, love.

[Although it's said with a smile, there's the hint of -- not a warning to it, but definitely a reminder to be careful. In all senses of the word, because while Claude does indeed love being fucked by Vincent, he doesn't like his arse fucked the shreds anymore than he likes fucking Vincent's arse to shreds first. Nevertheless, he lets go of Vincent's hair, breathing through his nose to try and control his quick pulse while rolling to the side, onto his stomach. A moment's pause as he settles into the most comfortable position he can manage with his cock hard against his stomach, trapped between his body and the mattress.]

Front or knees?

[If he'd been less... moody, he would have probably apologised - with a smile, naturally, but even so. He recognises the warning in Claude's voice for what it is and takes a moment to breathe, noticing peripherally how his hands are trembling with every intake of air.]

Knees, please.

[Because that's how Claude prefers it and Vincent isn't about to make things terrible for him, just because his own needs weigh heavier on his mind right now. The taste of cock - of sweat and arousal and precome - is still very much present in his mouth; he swallows, unnecessarily, and reaches for the lube in the drawer by the bed. No condoms anymore; Vincent is still getting used to that. Even with a steady partner, he's never made that transition before. Not before now.]

[He shuffles onto his knees, spreading his legs as much as possible to grant Vincent room to move behind him. Hands flat against the mattress, fingers spread out, he balances himself with some effort. He isn't 25 anymore, of course and you can tell at times like this, when certain acrobatics are required of his body as a whole. With a few shaky breaths, he mutters something unintelligible - even to himself - and relaxes his back. The muscles all the way down to his buttocks and thighs. His cock still leaking precome and his balls tight from arousal and anticipation. He knows what comes next. It's been a while, though - it'll be a pleasurable reintroduction. It always is, with Vincent. Even like this. If not especially like this.]

Treat me nicely, okay?

[His voice is hoarse enough to give the joke some edge. Fitting Vincent's mood, most likely.]

[Vincent sits back, watching Claude position himself on his hands and knees. Carefully, of course, because they aren't seventeen and cracking your back during anal sex just isn't something a guy would be overly proud of. Pouring out a generous amount of lube onto his hand and fingers, he spends the time slicking himself up in long, slow strokes. It takes a few seconds for his mind to settle wholly into sensations - as opposed to the numbness he's been dealing with ever since Jean-Paul decided to break his fucking nose with no warning. At Claude's question, he manages a smile, strained from a mix of arousal and a fresh surge of irritation.]

Wouldn't offer you anything else.

[Like this, Claude's really very appealing. Massively appealing. With his legs slightly spread, his balls and cock heavy and exposed between his thighs. And his arse; well-shaped and delicious, skin lighter than Vincent's, but not as pale. He tightens his grip on his cock, practically jerking off now, eyes eating Claude up, like a fucking entrée. Reaching out with his free hand, he runs his palm up his thigh, fingers spreading out near his perineum and pressing in, just a slight touch of stimulation.]

[Everything is restricted to the sense of touch, seeing how he's staring straight at the headboard of the bed and unable to see anything else without beginning to move, to turn his head and look over his shoulder. So, Claude stays in place and focuses on the sounds, first - the wet sound of one lube-slick hand jerking off Vincent's cock (and just imagining it is making him harder by the second). The sense of touch, secondly, as he feels Vincent's fingers run up his thigh, spreading out near his perineum and applying pressure for the sake of stimulation. Claude has always been sensitive. His balls. Nipples. His skin, in general. Exhaling shakily, he leans forward slightly, arse on display and his cock positively dripping. Once Vincent starts fucking him, he'll have to jerk off or he's going to fucking die from the pleasure of it...]

Enjoying yourself?

[The question is directed at the both of them, really and he'd laugh if he had enough air in his lungs. He doesn't. He's completely breathless.]

[Okay, that's it, he can't... Shifting closer on his knees just a bit awkwardly with his hard-on bobbing against his stomach, he places his lube-covered hand on the small of Claude's back, his other staying in place just below his scrid. Claude is pretty sensitive in terms of small-scale stimulation (in general, too) and it's so. Fucking. Hot. Reaching further down, Vincent fondles his balls, a comfortable weight in his palm as he rolls them slowly back and forth between his fingers.]

Definitely, yeah.

[His voice is a pant now, breathless and rough around the edges. Even in his current mood, he couldn't not take the time to enjoy Claude's amazing body; it's there for him to take and he'll take it alright, just the way they both prefer it. Moving his other hand downwards, he slips two fingers between Claude's buttocks, pushing lightly against his arsehole. Not enough to penetrate but enough for the next few seconds, all the same.]

[Shit. Vincent is fondling his balls, rolling them back and forth between his fingers slowly. Hearing himself breaking into a pant, Claude drops his head, resting it against his forearm, knowing full well that he's only spreading himself more open by doing so. All the better. Vincent will probably like that, his buttocks spread apart around the couple of fingers that he's pressing against his arsehole. Not enough to penetrate yet, just the notion of pressure. The promise. Fuck, don't be a tease now, Vincent - not when he knows Vincent wants it just as much as Claude does (if not more). Needs it. They both need it, right now. Each other.]

[Claude reacts to his touch in the best way possible, bending further down and leaving his arsehole more exposed. To his fingers and his eyes, both. Oh shit, he wants to move ahead now - wants to bury his cock in Claude's arse, wants his mind to stop and his body to take the fuck over. Breathing heavily through his nose, he pushes his fingers forward with enough pressure to make the movement smooth, just a bit unyielding. All the way to his knuckles, Claude's body burning hot and tight.

He can't wait to fuck him. He can't wait. Fingers curving in just the right position, he presses against Claude's prostate, knowing exactly how to make the angle work. Like this, he simply pushes his fingers back and forth, keeping them slightly seperated for the sake of stretching. Quietly, still, except for his breathing which is gradually turning into panting instead.]

[Like everything else Vincent does in bed, he works his prostate with great precision, once he's buried his fingers in his arse - most likely to the knuckles, or so it feels. The burn prominent the first five seconds, before slowly dying down in favour of the sensation of intense pleasure. All his muscles are working now, his thighs trembling slightly and his shoulders tense as he pushes back against Vincent's (bloody) long fingers, thrusting in and out of him at an even pace, separated slightly to open him up. In reality, they're both probably just waiting for the next step - for Vincent to get a fucking move on and fuck him, but Claude isn't one to dismiss even a moment's worth of Vincent pleasuring him. Too precious. Too damn precious to throw away. Gasping for a large mouthful of air, he moans loudly, his fingers itching to reach down and grab his cock. Not now, though. Not yet. He can wait. Be patient. If Vincent can, so can he.]

[That moan is the last straw - in terms of foreplay, this is pretty poor by Vincent's standards but he's not here to play around until the break of dawn. Not tonight (though the idea isn't bad...). Not with Claude sounding like that, pushing against him, fucking himself on his fingers. Straightening up, he pulls his fingers out and runs his palm over his cock again. Slick enough. Still on his knees, his cock on perfect level, he moves himself closer - close enough for the tip to press in firmly against Claude's arsehole as Vincent spreads his cheeks with his free hand.]

Fuck, you're so hot. So hot. [His voice sounds distant to his ears, arousal blurring up everything except the feel of stimulation. Finally. Finally. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he presses forward, cock pushing into Claude's arse inch by inch.] Christ, yes.

[Anal sex is not something you do on a bed of roses. It isn't all sweets and frilly skirts, it's someone pushing inside of your arse with their cock and of course, it burns at first - especially with the way Vincent is so adamant about it, gliding inside inch by inch. Claude can feel his arsehole widening around the shaft of his cock and his arse on fire around the length of it. So good, though. It feels so bloody good. Hair falling into his eyes as he stares unseeingly at the pillows in front of him, he tries controlling his breathing, his panting making him feel slightly light-headed.]

Just... push in, all the way.

[The burn will die down. If just Vincent will bury himself to the base already, so Claude's body can adjust.]

[... oh fuck. Claude's so tight around his cock, so tight and so fucking hot. He tries to control his breathing and fails, utterly, everything coming out as pants and gasps. Glancing down, he watches the way Claude's arsehole stretches around his cock, helped along nicely by a mix of sweat, lube and precome. Fuck. This is impossibly good and it's lightening up every nerve in his body, forcing him completely out of his mind. As such, it takes him a moment to realise that Claude's spoken - and when he answers, he's already fulfilled his request, cock buried all the way to the base. He holds still with an effort, the need to get off so urgent now that every hesitation feels almost like torture.]

Alright?

[His voice is thick from arousal. He licks his lips, supporting himself with one hand against Claude's hip, the other running up and down his back in senseless patterns. Sweaty palm against equally sweaty skin.]

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(( LOG : never without purpose ))

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