Claude isn’t what you’d call a regular top. If he had to label himself, he’d say he was a versatile one, but having been mainly in relationships to men who preferred to play tops themselves, it’s not the role he’s most familiar with. For the most part, he topped Jean-Baptiste and back in the day, the few times Gilbert had agreed to anal sex, Claude had been the top, too. Besides that, it’s mostly been the odd time when his steady partners have said yes. It’s not something he reads anything into, the top/bottom division. He doesn’t mind being the bottom himself and he definitely isn’t going to shove Vincent into some stereotype because he’s agreed to be one now. They’re going with the flow, aren’t they? This is just where they ended up.

Taking the condom that Vincent hands him, he manages to send him a somewhat strained smile. He’s so turned on that it hurts. It’s been a long time, since anything or anyone last got him this worked up, so the feeling is somewhat foreign. He breathes through his nose, forcing himself into a calmer state while he unwraps the condom and rolls it on with the ease of many years’ practice. Leaning in to take the tube of lube, he meets Vincent’s eyes, pausing for a moment to ask: “How much prep do you need?”

It differs, after all. Some men like to take it with more preparation, some with less. Generally, when it’s left up to him, Claude takes his time, considering the size of his cock, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Vincent turns out to be one of those men who like it hard and rough.