When Vincent draws away to make an advance at his alcohol instead, Claude mirrors him - moves little, least of all out of Vincent's reach, but wraps the fingers of his free hand around the coolness of his cognac tumbler. The contrast in comparison to the heat of Vincent's skin which he's lazily brushing with his other hand stark. He sighs in pleasure, relaxes back against Vincent's curl of a hold and rolls his shoulders slightly. They're always tense, his shoulders - it's the stress point he is bothered by the most on most days, but in these surroundings, in this company, he hardly notices. It's simply of no relevance, is it? Not when the sight that greets you, meets you upon turning your head is Vincent's honest gaze and a wide, unguarded smile that seems to have grown out of an unnatural meekness. Like that of soil exhausted for all its nutrients.

Another long drink of his cognac, draining it almost completely and he pushes the crystal out of the way. Cocks his head at Vincent's words and smiles, slightly but with all his warmth and a touch of tease, before pushing up against him again, breathing against his cheek first, then his ear. Long mouthing kisses of lips only. "I've missed you as well," he answers, most of the sentence skirting over the shell of Vincent's ear. His other hand has sought back to Vincent's stomach, but is travelling down rather than up. Down over hipbone and the joint between abdomen and thigh. Vincent has such gorgeous, long limbs. He can feel it even when he's all wrapped up in clothing - the length and terseness of his muscles. Much like he can feel himself react, grow harder in his trousers fast. Claude manages a long, hard exhalation, then he reaches up and grabs hold of Vincent's hand by the wrist, waiting for him to dispose of his glass with ungraceful impatience. Shuffles closer, inching along the leather of the seat. "I could show you just how much, Vincent."