He catches on to the signs pretty quickly – Claude’s breathing speeding up next to his ear, the force and pace of his thrusts increasing with every breath. It’s good timing, too, because he’s getting close to the edge. Everything’s starting to blend together in his mind; every sensation, from Claude stretching his arse open and filling him up, pushing against his prostrate, to the friction of his cock, rubbing against the mattress. And Claude’s body on top of his, pressing him down against the bed, the sheer sense of weight and warmth swallowing him up both physically and mentally.

They don’t orgasm at the same time, not as such. That hardly ever happens, at least not for him. It’s close, though. He feels Claude’s cock contracting inside his arse, the implications pushing him the rest of the way and as Claude stills on top of him, his face sweaty and hot next to his neck, he comes against the mattress. It’s a fast, powerful orgasm and he gasps for air, eyes screwed shut and face drawn tightly. Oh, fucking hell. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“… fuck.”

He breathes in. Breathes out. Notes somewhat distantly how the sheet beneath him has gone damp, sperm cooling on the bed. Probably on his stomach, too. Jesus Christ, he’s going to just lie here now. Until Claude pulls out and he’d better not be quick about it unless he wants Vincent to hobble home.