Claude has… a good idea about Vincent, so to speak. He doesn’t make assumptions, but he has met enough gay men in his life to know very well what’s the general and the usual approach to sex in that milieu – a milieu he hasn’t as such ever frequented himself, because unlike most of his peers he doesn’t do one-night stands. Doesn’t appreciate that kind of superficiality. Something he might ought to tell Vincent before they get too far in their action. Vincent pushes his tongue in between his lips, however, and Claude’s focus quickly shifts from his internal train of thought to the sensation of slickness, of muscle against muscle… Breath catching in his throat, he pushes his hands beneath Vincent’s white shirt, the material crisp against the back of his hands as he runs his fingers up his chest. The light tickle of hairs, the rise of nipples, the firmness of the male chest. He loves it.

Then, Vincent reaches down between them and cups his cock, giving it a squeeze that makes Claude give up entirely on the idea of putting up any kind of restrictions tonight, as he normally does. He can state his demands afterwards. Right now his body has demands of its own and his cock is telling him to listen carefully. To the sound of Vincent’s breathing, palpable against his lips and to the sound of rustling fabric, betraying their actions even in the dark. Yes, it’s obvious that if this were a contest in sexual experience, Claude would come out the loser – but really, in this he’ll come out the winner, no matter what.