After having dropped his trousers on Claude’s floor, Vincent walks past him into the bedroom and sits down on the bed, the greyness of his briefs clashing with the whiteness of his shirt, even in the dimness of the room. Claude leaves the door ajar behind him as he walks over to the bed, seating himself next to Vincent while casually taking off his socks and correcting his underwear, in the aftermath of this – their first round. There’s a calm to him now, having achieved his orgasm already, but he can easily sense Vincent’s restlessness. His impatience. It’s almost as obvious as the outline of his hard cock in his underpants. Well, they’re in the perfect venue to take care of that, aren’t they? Looking up, finally, he meets Vincent’s eyes. Holds his gaze in silence for a moment, then leans in – reaching down and slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his briefs without any hesitation, fingertips following the length of his hot cock down. His breath ghosts over Vincent’s lips, but he doesn’t speak, his actions speaking in clearer terms than he thinks he could achieve himself. In words. It’s a myth, really, that men can’t multitask. Most of the time, they just choose to focus instead. So, he does. Focus. On closing the remaining distance between them, kissing Vincent on the mouth while his fingers wrap around his cock near the base.