Cliff Jensen’s tattooed arms grip Ethan Slade’s hips as he pins him against the wall, his dark hair falling forward while Slade’s fingers dig into the maroon fabric, lips locked in a rough, open-mouthed kiss. Jensen’s grip tightens on the back of Slade’s neck, pulling him flush as his own breath comes sharp and uneven, hands sliding down to grip the waistband of his jeans. The air between them is thick with the weight of their bodies, one pressing forward while the other braces against the resistance, their mouths never breaking contact.
