Vincent felt the passion, the heated desire in Owen. The kiss had turned into something that was forceful and needy, and he answered it with the same emotion. It hurt, to be separated from Owen for any length of time, especially not knowing if he would ever return, not knowing if he would ever be allowed to touch him again, to hold his hand, to kiss him, even to look at him. Now he was in the middle of this, feeling Owen's ardour for him.
He was wise enough to know it was likely just Owen missing him that was driving this act. He was selfish enough not to care about the repercussions. He desired Owen too, wanted to feel that touch, that want. He was wise enough to know that there would be fallout from this, for at least one of them. Probably for himself. That was alright, if that was the case, because he would learn to cope with that. Anything was worth going through, if only for this one, sacred moment.
His fingers worked of their own accord, removing Owen's shirt from his body, wanting to press more of his own flesh against him. He could feel Owen's erection between them, pressing and grinding and easily summoning forth one of his own. It wasn't long before he was on his knees - but not alone, for he'd dragged Owen down to his knees along with him. This wouldn't be giving or taking, this would be an exercise in sharing, and in one horrified corner ofhis mind, he realised there was no lube in the house - just in the basement, and taking Owen down there might be a splash of cold water to his face.