Sylvain simply drops out of focus, Vincent’s gaze landing directly on Claude’s face as he slips closer, his hand curling over the back of his neck. The smile doesn’t quite leave, not even as Claude kisses him – his expression changes only when he’s pushed into responding, Claude’s tongue hard and wet against his own. It takes him a moment, too – because here he is, in a public place and he’s being kissed and it’s so good, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever tried, not counting the night they spent together weeks back. Breathing out slowly, shakily, he buries his fingers in Claude’s hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.
He’s never kissed anyone like this before, certainly not the girls his mother keeps presenting to him. And what’s more, he’s having a hard time imagining himself kissing someone else like this, too, even another man. There’s simply something so satisfying, so inherently true about Claude, something that he wouldn’t quite have believed in before meeting him. He’s always been a strictly realistic person, Vincent, perhaps bordering on cynical if one should be unkind enough to draw the necessary, hasty conclusions. But anything like… like true love, like real, honest love… Perhaps he’s always expected the world to come out a little bit less colourful than he’d imagined, a little bit less real than he’d truly hope.
Perhaps he’s always been afraid of disappointment more than anything else.
Drawing back, he leaves his lips as they are – wet and slick, ready for more. Taking another sip from his whiskey without losing too much of their physical proximity, he gives Claude a wide smile. Devoid, this time, of confrontation or arrogance. “You know,” he says, keeping his voice low enough to imitate a state of privacy, “I've missed you. Very much so.”
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He’s never kissed anyone like this before, certainly not the girls his mother keeps presenting to him. And what’s more, he’s having a hard time imagining himself kissing someone else like this, too, even another man. There’s simply something so satisfying, so inherently true about Claude, something that he wouldn’t quite have believed in before meeting him. He’s always been a strictly realistic person, Vincent, perhaps bordering on cynical if one should be unkind enough to draw the necessary, hasty conclusions. But anything like… like true love, like real, honest love… Perhaps he’s always expected the world to come out a little bit less colourful than he’d imagined, a little bit less real than he’d truly hope.
Perhaps he’s always been afraid of disappointment more than anything else.
Drawing back, he leaves his lips as they are – wet and slick, ready for more. Taking another sip from his whiskey without losing too much of their physical proximity, he gives Claude a wide smile. Devoid, this time, of confrontation or arrogance. “You know,” he says, keeping his voice low enough to imitate a state of privacy, “I've missed you. Very much so.”