Arnaud Chagall stands over David Corey, his dark hair framing a broad, muscular frame as he grips the other man’s shoulders while their mouths lock in a deep kiss. Corey sits back, his own smooth, toned body relaxed but tense with anticipation as Chagall’s fingers dig into his skin. The air hums with the weight of their touch, one dominant, the other yielding, before the kiss deepens into something hungrier.
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