For a few seconds, there’s just the sensation of Claude more or less looming over him, his body heat palpable between them. Vincent is tall – not taller than most, but taller than many – and so, the sensation is a little bit alien, the feel of being looked down upon. It’s why he often tops, too; up against a wall, it just makes for a very nice size dynamic. He shifts slightly, cock rubbing against the mattress. The friction’s good; not sufficient, but good. He sighs, focusing his gaze on the metal works of the headboard, eyes following the twirls and wreaths lazily.

Vincent is rarely completely relaxed. It’s just not how his mind works and thus, his body doesn’t either. In bed, however, he’s as close to being ‘at ease’ as he’s ever going to get. At the touch of Claude’s hand against his buttocks, his fingers slipping from his scrid and upwards, he breathes out slowly, the mixture of hot fingers and wet lube making his skin tingle and body feel heavy with expectation. Impatience, too. When he speaks, his voice sounds raw and hoarse, like his throat’s fighting to get enough air to produce the words.

“Shit, that’s nice.” He shuts his eyes, shifting again. Friction. Mmm. “Don’t take too long, Claude, I’m getting really fucking needy here.”

He pictures Claude’s big cock buried in his arse, his body heavy on top of him and the smell of sweat and man thick in the air. Safe to say, it doesn’t make him feel any less impatient. He’s always been somewhat slutty, though; what can you expect?