And Vincent deep-throats him without any pause, without any choking, without problems of any kind. His grip on his balls tightening at the same time, just the right amount of pressure, just right. It’s so good, Claude loses all coherent thought, his breathing harsh and loud, even over the wet (sloppy) sound of Vincent sucking his cock. There’s something very satisfactory about knowing that he hasn’t forced any of this, that it’s a voluntary act. That Vincent wants his cock all but rammed down his throat. The thought only adds to his arousal. Feeling the pleasure build in his groin now, deceptively fast, he still manages not to thrust into Vincent’s mouth. It’s a rush – a rush of pleasure burning its way from the tip of his cock, pressed against the back of Vincent’s throat to the base, still firmly engulfed by his lips. It’s… so good. So good. Which is all he manages to think, before his body takes over, hips jerking as his orgasm hits. The next few seconds nothing but white light behind his closed eyelids and a deep moan in the back of his throat. He couldn’t manage to speak, even if he tried. He doesn’t. There’s no need when his body is speaking in such clear terms by itself.