Diego Sans grips Aston Springs’ hips, his beard rough against the other man’s bare chest as he slams into him from behind, the sound of flesh meeting flesh loud in the close space. Aston’s hands brace against the wall, his dark hair falling forward as Diego’s grip tightens, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders. The air thickens with the scent of sweat and the wet slap of skin as he drives deeper, each thrust pulling a sharp exhale from Aston’s parted lips.
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