Nate Donaghy and Benoît Ulliel press their smooth, muscular chests together on a couch, fingers tracing the hard lines of each other’s ribs as their lips meet in deep, open-mouthed kisses. Ulliel’s dark hair brushes the pillow while Donaghy’s grip tightens on the other’s shoulder, pulling him closer as their bodies lock in a slow, deliberate press. The air between them is thick with the weight of their touch, every stroke deliberate, every breath held just long enough to make it feel like more.
