[ Sylvain's never wished for Ignatz's skill with a paintbrush more than when he watches Claude lean back against that desk in nothing but those boots and a smirk. At least he has a very good memory.
He follows, drawn like a plucked tether, dark, hungry eyes taking in the sight of him like a man starving. It completely derails whatever he'd thought of retorting back - impressive, really - in favor of hemming him in against the edge of the desk, hands pressed to either side of him as he leans in to capture Claude's lips again in a rough, demanding kiss. But he can't not touch, which ends up with one hand sliding up to wind its way into Claude's hair again, fingers tangling and then gripping, angling him just right so he can deepen the kiss.
Apparently his impatience wasn't all the way sated after all. ]
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He follows, drawn like a plucked tether, dark, hungry eyes taking in the sight of him like a man starving. It completely derails whatever he'd thought of retorting back - impressive, really - in favor of hemming him in against the edge of the desk, hands pressed to either side of him as he leans in to capture Claude's lips again in a rough, demanding kiss. But he can't not touch, which ends up with one hand sliding up to wind its way into Claude's hair again, fingers tangling and then gripping, angling him just right so he can deepen the kiss.
Apparently his impatience wasn't all the way sated after all. ]