Jesus Christ. Vincent meets his gaze without blinking, the smile on his face widening. Challenge accepted, hot stuff.
Watching Claude search the drawer for whatever – lube and condoms, hopefully – he pushes off the rest of the sheet, his cock stiff between his legs. He’s been known to fuck with (and get fucked by) strangers, sure, but under normal circumstances it happens in the dark, up against a wall or somewhere equally anonymous and casual. It’s been years since his last relationship and really, ‘random extended fuck’ might be a better term for it. Moreover, it’s usually quick and frantic; once again, the rules are different with Claude. This is everything but, the way Claude calmly looks through his drawer, his movements direct, matter-of-fact. The way he jerked him off before, too. Solid. Predictable? Nah. Trustworthy, he thinks, but shit that’s a big word for someone he’s known for 24 hours.
He doesn’t wipe his hand against the sheets, fingers and palm damp from precome and sweat. Instead, he shifts sideways, onto the middle of the bed, mattress giving only minimal way beneath him. Of course, Claude would be the type to sleep on a hard bed. Vincent is much the same and funnily enough, the thought arouses him further. The thought of… having something in common with his newest, random one-night-stand? Who’s turning into something more like a date instead, admittedly.
no subject
Watching Claude search the drawer for whatever – lube and condoms, hopefully – he pushes off the rest of the sheet, his cock stiff between his legs. He’s been known to fuck with (and get fucked by) strangers, sure, but under normal circumstances it happens in the dark, up against a wall or somewhere equally anonymous and casual. It’s been years since his last relationship and really, ‘random extended fuck’ might be a better term for it. Moreover, it’s usually quick and frantic; once again, the rules are different with Claude. This is everything but, the way Claude calmly looks through his drawer, his movements direct, matter-of-fact. The way he jerked him off before, too. Solid. Predictable? Nah. Trustworthy, he thinks, but shit that’s a big word for someone he’s known for 24 hours.
He doesn’t wipe his hand against the sheets, fingers and palm damp from precome and sweat. Instead, he shifts sideways, onto the middle of the bed, mattress giving only minimal way beneath him. Of course, Claude would be the type to sleep on a hard bed. Vincent is much the same and funnily enough, the thought arouses him further. The thought of… having something in common with his newest, random one-night-stand? Who’s turning into something more like a date instead, admittedly.