[ Each feeling of Sylvain beneath him is its own version of too much: each shudder, each small sign preceding all those breathless noises asking for more. It's still not please, but Claude's having a hard time caring about that in looking for such specifics anymore. It's too difficult to imagine there could be anything better than this.
There's the clutch of those hands, his name scattered in amidst things making up half-formed pleas and the growing tension signaling the pleasure he wants to build for the other is happening. That last clench around him is almost enough to make him see stars as he thrusts back into Sylvain again, and that's before what's called out. All of it goes to his aching cock, threatens to drag him towards something else to where he has to take a second to catch his breath, paused within him, and focus. But only for a second, since then Claude draws his own ragged breath and leans down to Sylvain's ear to say: ] Good.
[ He's learned enough from their times together to know how praise works on a different level here from all those other compliments offered at other times. Maybe if his mind wasn't so impossibly blank from everything that's not Sylvain's want and how to satisfy it he could come up with something more eloquent to (somehow) draw out more from the other, but that'll be an experiment which has to wait for another time.
Because right now it involves sitting up afterwards enough to be able to see that face he's become entirely too fond of - and the expressions on it when with one squeeze to wrists still in his grip for now as a signal for what's to come, this time the thrusts are finally what the other wanted. Something deeper, something firmer, all with a faster pace meant to claim what's being offered to bring Sylvain whatever he desires. ]
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There's the clutch of those hands, his name scattered in amidst things making up half-formed pleas and the growing tension signaling the pleasure he wants to build for the other is happening. That last clench around him is almost enough to make him see stars as he thrusts back into Sylvain again, and that's before what's called out. All of it goes to his aching cock, threatens to drag him towards something else to where he has to take a second to catch his breath, paused within him, and focus. But only for a second, since then Claude draws his own ragged breath and leans down to Sylvain's ear to say: ] Good.
[ He's learned enough from their times together to know how praise works on a different level here from all those other compliments offered at other times. Maybe if his mind wasn't so impossibly blank from everything that's not Sylvain's want and how to satisfy it he could come up with something more eloquent to (somehow) draw out more from the other, but that'll be an experiment which has to wait for another time.
Because right now it involves sitting up afterwards enough to be able to see that face he's become entirely too fond of - and the expressions on it when with one squeeze to wrists still in his grip for now as a signal for what's to come, this time the thrusts are finally what the other wanted. Something deeper, something firmer, all with a faster pace meant to claim what's being offered to bring Sylvain whatever he desires. ]