downplaying | (( LOG : the wall has fallen ))

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(( LOG : the wall has fallen ))

[Characters:] Vincent & Claude
[Date:] 03.06.2010
[Summary:] You don't get closer than this. Not to anyone. Not to yourself.
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[Claude is sitting up in bed, popped up against the headboard with a (still unpublished) book in his lap - a poetry collection that Didier has sent his way for a friendly review before it hits the streets. He reads over the various contributions with a slight frown on his face, concentration drowning out all other thoughts than those concerning the poetic composition of a French-Senegalese vocabulary.

He saw his doctor yesterday, though, did Claude - to hear the results of the various tests and blood work he's had done over the past couple of weeks. All clean, of course. Not that he'd expected anything but, but even so. Some things aren't worth throwing caution to the winds for and STDs definitely count amongst them.

Besides, if he's (they're) going to start practicing unprotected sex... It better not be on Vincent's account.]

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[He finishes in the bathroom, hanging the towel to dry on the rack and shutting the door behind him. It's been a pretty ordinary Friday, really, if you leave out the fact that all his results from the doctor came back negative. He's had STDs, of course, years back - it's hard to avoid, even if you use a condom more or less religiously. But the past couple of years, he's been... careful. With Claude, too.

Pausing by the bed, he looks Claude over for a moment. Trying to imagine what it'll be like, finally to... well. He's never had any problems using a condom, reduced sensations or not. Actually, he's never done anything (or anyone) without it. It's going to be like a whole new fucking world.]

[Hearing Vincent crossing the floor to the bed, Claude doesn't have to look up to notice that he comes to a halt near the bed, just out of sight - unless he raises his gaze and his attention from the book in his lap to the man in front of him. Which he doesn't, instead turning another leaf in the poetry collection and speaking while scanning the words on the next page without any focus worth of mention.]

Coming to bed?

[The cats are shut into the living room, with their cat tree and their established sleeping patterns. He doesn't imagine it's like having children, but even with cats being just cats, it leaves the two of them alone, Vincent and him. Finally.]

[Claude's quiet voice snaps him out of his thoughts. Blinking himself back into focus, he walks around the bed to his side, running a hand through his still-wet hair before getting in.]

Sure.

[Normally, he'd pop up a pillow and sit back with a book of his own - God knows he's got enough new literature on his to-do list to last a life time. His field moves fast; academia in a nutshell. Tonight, however, he chooses to simply lie down on his side, balancing the weight of his upper-body on his elbow as he looks at Claude. Who's busy not looking at him, preferring instead some book that no one cares about. He'll fix that in a second.]

Tests came back negative.

[Vincent's words make him stop his reading - in the middle of a sentence, too. Turning his head to the side to face Vincent who's popped up on his elbow, the duvet draped over his lower body, leaving his chest exposed... Claude fixes his eyes on the other man's face, smiling slightly, one eyebrow going up. Truth be told, he hadn't been sure what to expect from Vincent's tests. With all the care the man takes in regards to sex, it would be strange if he'd exposed himself to transmission. Yet, with the kind of life he has led, it would be even stranger if he'd managed to escape it entirely. Never the diplomat, however, Claude simply shrugs. A small shrug to emphasise his careful choice of words. Neutral, but precise.]

I'm glad.

[Claude's subdued reaction doesn't fool him; he saw the man tear his attention away from that stupid book with the rapidness of someone who's been waiting with baited breath. Vincent can't really blame him for the implications - after all, he really wasn't sure about those tests himself, either. Doing them, sure. But getting them back? Ugh. He smiles, reaching out with his free hand and running his palm over Claude's chest. Lightly enough to be a caress, slowly enough to carry a message.]

Bet I can make you really happy about it, yeah.

[He shifts closer, sheets rustling beneath him and his duvet slipping down to his thighs. Nothing too revealing about it, yet - there's definitely arousal building in his groin, however, and the rest is mostly just a matter of age. All in good time.]

I'd never doubt your talent at making me a very, very happy man, Vincent.

[It's said with something like a smile, Claude's eyes running down Vincent's body as more and more of it is slowly revealed by the duvet slipping down to his thighs. His cock is only just beginning to harden, none of the one-second-to-the-next hard-ons that they experienced as teenagers and young(er) men. Claude can feel his own body responding, arousal pooling like a burning heat in the pit of his stomach and, even more pronounced, as a tightness in his balls.

Gaze crawling back up Vincent's stomach and chest, to his face, to meet his eyes, Claude cocks his head. There's an unspoken "go on" to be located somewhere in his expression, but he doesn't say the words. Instead letting Vincent take it at his own pace. Usually it's a good one.]

[His smile widens at that, gaining a decidedly predatory edge. That's all the permission he'll ever need from Claude - the non-spoken anticipation and the way he looks at him; just calm trust with a hint of something even better. Leaning in closer for a long, lazy kiss, he presses his tongue between Claude's lips and runs his hand further down his body. Over his stomach, to the duvet pooling across his lap.

Hand pausing, fingers curling lightly in the fabric, he deepens the kiss and lets the moment linger. After all, there's no need to rush. They have all night.]

[Kissing Vincent is always a pleasure in and by itself. It isn't just in terms of blowjobs that the man's got a talented mouth. No, it seems to be a talent he exhibits in more mundane fashions as well, if kisses really qualify as that - when they're this good, Claude isn't too sure. He starts humming in response mostly by instinct, the sound deep in his throat as Vincent pushes his tongue in between his lips. It sounds a bit like the cats purring and probably serves the same purpose, to testify to his enjoyment of it. The oral caresses. One can always hope, with Vincent.

Slowly, Claude reaches up one hand and spreads his fingers out over the back of Vincent's neck, the touch turning into a firmer grip almost immediately. Keeping him in place while he takes his time to explore. While they both do. His cock is definitely hardening more rapidly now. Definitely.]

[Oh, fuck. He loves the noises Claude makes when he kisses him - they're both really hot and, to some extent, kind of sweet. Claude's a man who enjoys his pleasures in a very visible fashion and Vincent's always liked that about him. The transparency. The way things are only rarely complicated and even in those cases, the complications tend to be appropriate.

He'd planned on breaking the kiss, really, but with Claude holding on like this, he's just. Going to stay right here, the heat of his mouth and the hard muscle of his tongue making him feel lightheaded. Mm. Doesn't mean he can't proceed, though. With his hand. Pushing the duvet away, he runs his palm down Claude's cock, from base to head. His fingers are still cool and consequently, the contrast is... noticeable.]

[It makes him start, slightly, as Vincent runs his palm up his cock, from base to head - the coolness of his hand even more pronounced seeing how he was wrapped up in covers until a second ago. A slight gasp and he leans into the kiss with a greater vigour, tongue pushing up against Vincent's harshly, unevenly, in time with his breathing which has turned shallow. The grip on Vincent's neck loosens slightly as Claude runs his fingers through his hair instead, almost playing with the soft strands. Almost, but not quite, since there isn't time or concentration enough in the world right now for anything beyond the feel of Vincent's long fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock.]

[He doesn't jerk Claude off - not yet. His hand won't be doing the pleasuring tonight, after all, and Vincent wants the full, fucking benefit of this new aspect of their relationship. Sex without a condom. The taste and scent of cock without the usual tint of rubber. Christ, his body's growing harder at the thought alone.

Drawing back, he looks down Claude's body, eyes eating up every detail without actually lingering; his chest, his nipples, the slight flatness of his stomach. And further down, Vincent's fingers closed around the base of his half-hard cock. He's not going to waste any time on foreplay tonight. Nah, better scrap it all together and go straight for what he's really craving, right? Shifting onto his hip and leaning sideways over Claude's stomach and lap, he stares at his cock for a moment. Curious, despite himself, despite years of practice.

Then, he closes his lips around its tip, sucking it slowly into his mouth.]

[He could say it happens too quickly for his body to fully compute what's going on, but in reality it's probably more a question of him being completely unaware of what to expect. He's been on the receiving end of blowjobs for the past 20 plus years, but never without a condom to take the edge of the experience, even if he's never missed anything in regards to it either. Sexually. So when Vincent positions himself and closes his lips around the tip of Claude's cock, sucking the head of it slowly into his mouth, the mere physicality of it takes Claude wholly by surprise. The rush of physical sensations, the intensity of wetness and suction as he feels his cock beginning to disappear into Vincent's mouth... Fuck, his half-hard-on is very quickly turning very, very hard. Quickly enough that he really should be feeling 20 again.

Moaning under his breath, he tightens his grip on Vincent's hair, unwilling to let his head fall back against the headboard. Almost impatient to get a view of Vincent, working his magic. Pure.]

[Oh fuck. Fuck. He pauses for a few seconds, Claude's hand tightening in his hair and the taste of him - pure, unadulterated - heavy and musky on his tongue. Moving a bit further sideways for a better angle, he pulls back the foreskin easily before licking a wet circle around the tip of the head.

Like this, though, without the smoothness of the rubber, he realises that his hand's too dry. Like wanking with a dry palm, of course, he's just never really. Thought about it in this context. Drawing back, he spits in his palm quickly, more than ready to dive back in as soon as possible. Slick hand closing around the shaft once more, he bends down and sucks Claude's cock in between his lips again, far enough that it pushes up against the roof of his mouth.]

[There he goes. Moving enough to the side that Claude can get a view of Vincent's lips, sliding down the shaft of his cock until the head of it is pushing up against the roof of his mouth. He knows he's always insisted that sex with a condom would never lose to sex without and in some ways, that still rings true - there are contexts and situations where sex without a condom just isn't possible, after all, but this isn't one such situation and Hell, if Vincent's tongue running over the bared head of his cock isn't all but driving him insane. Hearing his own breathing as a harsh row of in- and exhalations, Claude eases his grip in Vincent's hair, running his hand down the side of the other man's neck and over one shoulder instead. Like a caress. While he tries getting enough oxygen into his bloodstream to survive. For all he knows, this might very well end up being he death of him, it's that good.]

[Claude's touch against his neck and shoulder makes his skin tingle. Nothing like encouragement (who the fuck needs that in a situation like this?), rather it's an added sensation of presence. Physicalities. Like the way Claude's cock feels against his tongue, inside his mouth, heavy and hot and slick. There's a hint of saltiness, a thoroughly arousing blend of sweat and skin. Fuck, he can't get enough of it. Claude's not the only one growing short of breath; Vincent's breathing heavily through his nose, his mouth otherwise preoccupied as he sets a steady rhythm. Too slow to cause progression, too steady to be fragmented. Not in any hurry. Shit, no.]

Fuck --

[That's really all he can say, with Vincent's mouth working on his cock like that - not fast enough, but neither could it ever be called too slow. It's obvious that the other man is enjoying himself just as much as Claude. Claude who's finally giving in, letting his head fall back against the headboard, eyes open and staring at the ceiling while his body works overtime, all his muscles tense from pleasure and his hips bucking slightly. The feeling of Vincent's tongue and the suction, just... Fuck. And he can't even call the man a tease. Not when he's sucking his cock with such dedication and obvious enjoyment. Who would have known that the lack of one layer could add so much to the experience, not so much in terms of the pleasure itself, but... He glances down at Vincent, at Vincent blowing him. Loses his breath for a moment, because there's something so - and God, isn't he just a girl at heart - vulnerable about it.

He likes it. Yeah, he... likes it a lot.]

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(( LOG : the wall has fallen ))

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