[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.]
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