bakerstreet | ( under the night sky )

( under the night sky )

ＳＴＡＲＧＡＺＩＮＧ - whether you're on a picnic blanket in a field, laying on the beach, or in the bed of a truck, you're with someone you care about and you're looking at the stars.

ＣＡＭＰＦＩＲＥ - camping is the most fun when you're with someone else. roasting marshmallows, telling stories. nature's got it goin' on.

ＰＡＲＫＩＮＧ - you're at the lover's lane, parked at the peak overlooking the city, it's just you and someone else in the car. maybe it's time to steam up the glass or hey, you guys can just talk if you want.

ＦＩＲＥＷＯＲＫＳ - may it is the fourth of july, the new year, or just because, but there's fireworks shooting off and they're magical. or scary. it depends on what floats your boat.

ＬＡＴＥＮＩＧＨＴＳＷＩＭ - maybe you're at the beach or in the backyard pool or at the lake, maybe you're going to skinny dip or maybe you'll 'fall' in with all your clothes. either way, swimming at night is pretty much always fun.

ＳＫＹＬＡＮＴＥＲＮＳ - perhaps you've lost someone dear and you want to do something to remember them by, maybe you're making a wish for the future.

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[Norway is wild, untamed nature - even in the summer or perhaps especially during summertime. They've been walking all day in the fells, Vincent and him, the map of the area a labyrinth of contour intervals and colour variation. They'd finally found their camp side around dinner time, accommodated themselves in one of the small huts and prepared food over open fire...

Now the flames have died down somewhat, leaving the stars to (seemingly) shine brighter in the clear night sky above their heads. Claude leans back on his elbows and makes a noise of complete contentment, feet popped up close to the warmth of the fire.]

Civilisation is all well and good, but still. [A lazy stretch.] I could get used to this.

[It's kind of weird, perhaps, for a guy like Vincent to crave the open wilderness as much as he does. He's a man of the city, having gone through his teenage years and adulthood frequenting bars and underground markets, cramped with people and echoes ringing against the walls. Confinement, maybe, though he's always just focused on action. Of all sorts. Very little silence, desperate paces.

Vincent could wander the fells from dawn to dusk, however. With ease.

He doesn't look at Claude, throwing a stray twig onto the fire. Sparkles fly. Pretty.]

Let's stay, then. [He smirks.] Fuck everyone else.

Edited 2014-01-13 19:37 (UTC)

The State Minister is going to be unhappy if you don't show up for work on the 1st.

[It's not that Claude actually wants to talk work while they're on vacation and especially not right here, right now - with the wind making lazy waves of the tree shadows and a superb wine splashing around his glass. He takes a sip, the smooth taste of it lingering on his tongue. No, he'd rather have lazy conversations than these always high-strung ones, but it needs saying anyway, so he'll play the bad guy for now.]

Let's admit it, love, he's screwed without you.

[There's a long moment of silence, the crackling of the fire and the breath of the forest heavily audible around them. Vincent doesn't mind talking work, not really. But he's fucking tired of this - the same subject, the same questions. No matter how Claude puts it, he always makes it sound like an accusation.]

So fucking what? At least he knows it.

[He lies down on his back, looking upwards. Open sky, stars, the milky way. Pretty great.]

More work for me.

[Looking down at Vincent, he remains quiet. Doesn't continue down the same lane that they've walked too often already. Instead he takes a deep breath, the air fresh and clean in his nostrils, and finally just lies down next to the other man. No parts of their bodies are touching, but there's a sense of nearness about it anyway - from just lying in the same position, the earth cold and hard beneath his shoulder blades. In contrast to the heat of the fire, warming his feet.]

You're cheating on your workaholic tendencies right now, you realise.

[The feeling of closeness, of Claude simply lying down next to him and leaving the subject the hell alone is enough to make him smile. It's a faint expression, sure, but it's there.]

Mm. Just noticed, the signal's completely gone out here.

[It's kind of weird, being completely cut-off from civilization like that. From the news, the media, everything. Politics - and thus, the world - on placebo standby.]

[There's a phone in their hut, of course. For emergencies. But it's true, there's no Internet, no constant updates, no daily newspapers... Just this, the sound of burning wood and the smell of smoke in the air. It's like being a little kid again. Twist bread and roasted marshmallows. Not that he ever did go camping much as a child. The Latin Quarters hardly provided the right environment.]

We're not just the only cocks in the hen house tonight, we're the only cocks, full stop. Out here.

[It's not a shock that he remembers - exactly when and where Claude first used this sentence. It's been a long time, sure, but it's communication and that's something he takes deeply serious. His smile widens as he shifts closer, bumping his shoulder against Claude's. Bump!]

You sentimental old man. [A pause, then he sighs.] We really should have done this ages ago.

[Vincent bumps his shoulder against Claude's and Claude smiles, eyes falling closed for a moment - the many impressions somewhat overwhelming. Vincent's voice, the sound of the wind in the trees, the fire crackling... Yes, this is living. His smile widens as he pushes himself to the side, rolling over on top of Vincent without any warning whatsoever.]

We do this only cocks in the wilderness thing often, if you ask me. Just without the campfire.

[The campfire's nice, though. Claude quite likes it this way. Looking down at Vincent, he holds himself up with both arms, their legs entangled.]

[The slight rustling of clothes is his only warning before Claude rolls over on top of him. There's nothing abrupt or sudden about the increased proximity, though; it's expected, rather, like a perfect word furthering the natural flow of a good, private conversation. His smile fades a bit, the expression dampened by a rare kind of warmth.

Without bothering with a verbal reply, he leans up and kisses Claude, lips just a bit cold from the outdoors.]

[When it comes to Vincent and him, the selection of kisses possible is vast and varied. At this point, after years of being together, they have a kiss for every context. Although, they've never kissed in the middle of a huge, dark, quickly cooling Norwegian forest before. That's a first. A nice first. Cocking his head to the side, he angles his head better, pressing his tongue against Vincent's lips - cool from the night air. Of course, it feels personal - personal because they have this to themselves. It's theirs alone. Not only is there no one around to see, which he really couldn't care less about so long as he isn't in Senegal, but... There's no one around to care.]

[The request is deeply familiar, the response equally so - lips parting, he pushes his tongue against Claude's, just a bit roughly. The way he prefers every intimate act, all along the spectrum from a single kiss to sex. He can deal with soft and romantic too because he's not a fucking robot. But there's gotta be an edge. At least a hint. Hands running up Claude's shoulders and over his neck, he slides his fingers through his hair, strands coarse against his skin. And for once doesn't wonder whether there will be repercussions on the front pages of every cheap gossip magazine tomorrow at dawn.]

[Vincent responds in the best way he knows how, with just the slightest hint of roughness and impatience. Claude likes it - likes the way it clashes, sparks like the flames at their messily entangled feet. There's silence all around them, the only sound penetrating it being the sound of their own harsh breathing, mingling as their tongues slide along one another. After a long moment, Claude draws back, a smile on his face. Content. Lazy. He should be concerned about Vincent's back, but the man is a grown-up. He can tend to it himself. Claude just likes the view. The view and the proximity.]

Now, isn't this cozy?

[There's a suppressed laugh to his voice.]

[Claude draws back and Vincent looks up at him, the contrast between his hot mouth and the cold ground suddenly rather noticeable. And all the more, really, when Claude simply stays where he is, practically draped across him. When he speaks, the mirth in his voice is fucking unmistakable. In a few seconds, Vincent's back is going to start hurting and there'll be less fun to be had. For all involved. But even so, he's right. It's very cozy.]

Are you lying on me for a reason, Claude?

[He gives him a slight nudge. Nothing much, nothing particularly hurried.]

You feel nice, love. [A pause as he leans in to press his face against the side of Vincent's neck, breathing him in. Deeply.] You smell nice, too. You should stop using cologne altogether. It's sexy.

[Right now he's a mixture of smoke and sweat and the other scents that come of an entire day at foot, wandering the forest, picking berries and playing boy scout at the tender age of 50. Honestly, Claude thinks it beats Hugo Boss any day...]

[... this time, he smiles. Slipping his hand from Claude's hair and downwards, he spreads his fingers over the skin of his neck, shifting slightly to accommodate his weight. Ugh, this really is going to hurt at some point. He's not twenty anymore, is he? But the feel of Claude, the nearness and the heat is making him feel almost drowsy. Certainly too drowsy to push him off.]

So long as I'm on the ground like this, things won't get any sexier.

[Aaand a slight wince. Just to punctuate the statement.]

[Without moving, his face comfortably nuzzled in near Vincent's jaw, Claude closes his eyes. The smile not disappearing, oh, not at all. Vincent has a sex drive unrivalled by most and he's easier to get riled up than a rhino. Hell, it doesn't even require finesse which would be the one thing Claude certainly couldn't manage currently.]

I'm sure my hand in your trousers could change that.

[He shifts slightly, just enough to leave him room to run one hand down over Vincent's stomach, the fabric of his sweater thick and obscuring most of the touch itself, but not the motion. Downwards.]

[A huff of laughter. He goes very still as Claude slides a hand down his stomach, the combination of words and touch sending his thoughts racing south even faster. Oh yes. That's unmistakable, isn't it. Thoroughly. He's always been pretty easy, really, when it comes to sex. But Claude has a way, too. Something that's always made him different from others, though Vincent isn't by any means poetic enough to know how or why.]

Count on it.

[His voice sounds just a bit croaked. Probably due to the hard-on currently forming in his trousers.]

Edited 2014-01-16 18:37 (UTC)

Mmm.

[It's hardly even a proper response, more like a sound of enjoyment. Somewhere on their right a bird takes flight from the treetops and the fire is crackling merrily - all in all, they're reenacting Brokeback Mountain here, aren't they? And Brokeback Mountain loses.

Feeling the hard-on forming in Vincent's trousers which was the predictable response, really - Claude runs his hand down over the bulge. Cups Vincent's cock through his black jeans. Makes another sound of pleasure, this time deeper. Hoarser.]

Fuck.

[Though his touch is dampened by the stiff fabric, Claude's hand pressing against his cock is making his breath catch in his throat. Somewhat unconsciously, he thrusts his hips upwards slightly, trying to increase the friction. A tiny part of his brain keeps telling him that this is a god-awful place to get off. On the cold, hard ground. In... plain view of nobody except your typical, Norwegian deer or moose or whatever, really, but still...]

Fuck, we can't. Not here.

[The truth is that there's really no place better suited for a quick midnight fuck - no one will see and it'll be a nice change of air, literally... But even so, Claude withdraws his hand and rolls off Vincent, getting to his feet with only the slightest hint of effort. His knees aren't agreeing with him right now. Looking around the camp side once, simply scanning their surroundings, he holds a hand out for Vincent to take. Ironically, the same hand that was that close to giving him the time of his life.]

No. You're right.

[... well, that went away fast. He looks up at Claude, blinking owlishly for a moment. Then, he grabs onto his hand and gets to his feet, altogether too fast. His back screeches at him which isn't at all a problem compared to his cock, straining against the jeans. Ow. Guess he brought that on himself, though, because he knows. That Claude can't stand the secrecy. The public mirage Vincent has cultivated, mostly for his own benefit.]

No. [Jaw setting in annoyance, he walks past Claude with all the stiffness of a man in need. Sets the course for their cabin, not too far from the camping site.] Doesn't matter.

[Oh, come on. He was trying to be nice and understanding. Accommodating. Eyes narrowing slightly, Claude breaks into a slight run to catch up to Vincent, slapping his arse as he passes him by before spinning around and managing to walk backwards in front of him. Falling into step with him easily. Too many years of ballroom dance training shining through. In the darkness, he really can't see a thing, but if he happens to stumble, he might be lucky enough to gain some goodwill.]

You're being a jerk right now, Vincent.

[The slap on his arse doesn't do any-fucking-thing for the hard-on in his trousers. Well, it does, to be fair, but nothing helpful. He doesn't quite glare at Claude, though, because the man's acting like he's 18 years old and it's... pretty charming. Even if he's speaking gibberish.]

Fuck you.

[There's not a lot of edge to his words, however. Reaching out, he gives Claude a push to the side, something that could have been a shove if it had been harsher. As it is, it's mostly just a pat. A somewhat exasperated pat.]

Vincent Fortesque | OC

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