Claude breaks the kiss, his hand warm and heavy against his thigh. His touch makes Vincent’s spine tingle. It goes straight to his cock though obviously, he isn’t hard within seconds because he’s not fifteen anymore. Thank God for that. Instead, his body warms up gradually, steadily, and it matters only in so far as he needs to fill out the time the best he can. Oh yeah.

He looks Claude’s upper body over blatantly. He’s got some very broad shoulders – goes well with the rest of him, of course, but it definitely adds an extra ounce of masculinity to the overall… impression. Not bad, not bad at all. Vincent reaches out, placing his hand flatly against Claude’s chest, the short, dark hairs on his skin tickling his palm. He’s hot in more ways than one, is Claude. For some reason, it’s really easy picturing him on some harsh, African outskirts, writing articles, breathing and living his life. Soft as his personality may seem, it’s all just fitting.

He runs his hand downwards, slipping over one, dark nipple and lingering just a bit before going further, fingers spreading out over his stomach. Mmm. He can definitely stand another round of this. No fucking problem at all.