Faolan's moan was like music to Lucien's ears. Hearing that he was enjoying his touch was enticing to him. There had been very little moments in his life in which Lucien had been in tune with this side of himself. The thought of doing anything like this had never crossed the Frenchman's mind until that night where the Irishman had pulled him into his arms. While his kiss had interrupted Faolan's response, he knew what he was going to say in return, and that was enough for him. It filled him with a greater happiness, and allowed him to lose himself completely to the pleasure he was feeling every second he was in contact with the man in front of him. 

Feeling Faolan's arousal against him sparked Lucien's own excitement. Knowing that it was him that was making him feel this way.. that he was causing this reaction, was an incredibly satisfying feeling, and he wanted more of it. His hand could feel that Faolan's heartbeat was just as fast as his, and he allowed his hand to linger there for a moment before it trailed behind to curl around the Irishman, fiddling with the helm of his shirt. 

As Faolan's tongue brushed his lips, Lucien parted his lips to allow him entrance. He could feel the low rumble in Faolan's chest, but it did not deter him, but instead enticed him further. It was just proof of how much he was affecting him. There wasn't a part of him that feared the Irishman would hurt him. If Faolan wanted to give in to his desires, Lucien would gladly accept him. The Nephilim wanted this just as much as he did. A small moan escaped the Frenchman as their tongues danced with each other, guided by their desire for each other. He leaned further into the kiss, if that was possible, and his left hand slipped under his shirt, his cool fingers making contact with Faolan's skin, heat radiating from him as it always did. Lucien had been cold when he first came into the room, but there were no traces of that now. There was no way he could feel cold when all he could feel was Faolan's warmth.