Bruce Querelle pins Mario Texeira down, his grip tight on the hips while Mario’s legs spread wide, the dark hair slicked back from a face that’s already flushed from the way Querelle’s tongue drags slow circles around his hole. Querelle’s knuckles press into the mattress as he works Mario open with fingers, then slides in deep before pulling back to line himself up, the mirror reflecting the way Mario’s back arches when Querelle finally bottoms out. The air hums with the wet sound of skin slapping, Querelle’s breath ragged as he pulls out just enough to slam back in, the angle hitting Mario’s prostate with every thrust.
