Mateo Vice grips the roller coaster’s bars as Clark Davis presses his tattooed chest against him, their dark hair tangled in the wind while fingers dig into each other’s shoulders, no barrier between them, just, unfiltered contact. The coaster’s lurches make their kisses deeper, teeth catching, hands sliding down to grip asses through thin fabric, the metal bars cold against their sweating skin. Clark’s tattooed arm wraps around Mateo’s waist, fingers curling into the muscle of his thigh as they lean into the drop, mouths locked in a way that doesn’t care who’s watching.
