Feeling Lucien's tongue against his own had pushed the Irishman over the edge. Faolan wanted Lucien, entirely, and in this moment he could do nothing to stop himself from making the moves to get what he wanted, what he needed.

As Lucien's cool fingers slid up his shirt, he gripped the Frenchman tighter, both arms now wrapped around his waist. He lifted Lucien until his feet were off the ground, then stepped forward until he sensed the bed. He let Lucien gently down onto the bed and broke the kiss for only a moment. He stood over Lucien, looking down on the skin of his heaving chest and flushed cheeks. Faolan pulled his shirt from the bottom up and slipped it off, never taking his eyes off of Lucien. He tossed the tank top to the floor and closed the distance to the Frenchman again, hovering over him before crashing down into another kiss. All of his movements were natural, fluid, and gentle, concealing the welling tidal wave of desire that threatened to spill over and flood the room. 

He supported himself on an elbow as he let his other hand slide from Lucien's neck to his chest and down his stomach. When he met the resistance of Lucien's shirt, he started to unbutton it instinctively but fumbled with only one hand.