There's a way Fabrice flushes and blanches as Demetri touches him that he finds as intoxicating as the sounds that escape him. His chest is paler than Demetri's own, and amidst soft hair are still a few of the freckles he's become so infatuated with. Demetri rests his cheek on Fabrice's chest, drawing a line from one to another. It leads across his stomach, then back finally (after what seems like ages of dragging his hand over soft, pale skin) down to the line of the other man's jeans.

Something makes him look up as he undoes them, some tension in his belly that he feels is echoed in Fabrice. It isn't that Demetri hasn't done this before, but this feels different. The simple joy he's taking in exploring every inch of skin with hands and then mouth so very different than the usual encounters he organises. He wants to learn every bit of Fabrice, wants him to know how important that is to him too.

Demetri teases the edge of fabric, kissing just beneath the scars, breathing warm against his belly as he slips his hand beneath denim, only the lightest of fabric between them now. "Alright?"