… Fuck. Fuck. Drawing in a sharp breath as Vincent closes his lips over the head of his cock and sucks it into his mouth, Claude’s fingers curl into fists against the wall. The fact alone that Vincent caused no problems (in any form, rolling it on so smoothly you should think he had practice – which he probably does) out of the condom issue is enough to have made Claude gladly forgive him, had he proven to be a bad blower. Two seconds have passed and Claude is already more than convinced that he’s anything but. You could call it a blessing, currently, with how hard he is – how ready he feels to just jam his cock down the other man’s throat, though he holds back like a proper gentleman. Reaching down, shakily, with one hand to run it through Vincent’s hair. The strands of his hair silky between his fingers and his fingertips running over his scalp. Too bad he didn’t get to emphasize that he generally doesn’t do one-night stands, because he sure could get used to this kind of royal treatment. But hell, if this is just for tonight, that’s fine, too. That’s -- great. More than great. That’s… fuck.

The muscles in his thighs are quivering from the exertion of standing still, not thrusting forward too vigorously. Claude can feel sweat trickling down his temples, his breathing loud enough to pass for moaning now. Probably just the sex talking, but isn't this man highly lovable? Highly.