Jon's not expecting the reaction from Jean-Claude. Rather than break the illusion, the chill, unyielding length pressing his jaw open feels as though the touch of his mouth had brought a statue to life. The thickness of it traps a noise of surprise thrumming in Jon's throat.

He can feel Jean-Claude's skin growing warmer in his mouth and he presses deeper, seeking more that that unnatural coolness. Pressed flat against the cock in his mouth, Jean-Clock can feel the slightly rougher patch on Jon's tongue rubbing against him as Jon takes more of him down. He has to shift forward and brace his forearms on Jean-Claude'a thighs, pressing the cheap cotton of his shirt into his smooth skin.

Jon had been mocked and rejected so many times for being too relentless, too nosy, too demanding. To have Jean-Claude praise the part of Jon that most often alienated those around him burned in him to verge of pain until it became hunger: A hunger he eager to fulfill and unashamed of. Another noise spills out of back of Jon's throat, caressing the tip of Jean-Claude's cock as he shifts with restless need, caught between the weight of his hand and the length stretching his jaw trying to fill him even more.