Ettore Tosi grips Giuseppe Pardi’s hips hard while his tongue forces open the other’s mouth, fingers digging into the dark hair at his nape as they press against the white wall. Pardi’s back arches, his smooth chest rising fast against the rough bark of the trees behind them, one hand tangled in the other’s beard as they shove each other closer. The air between them is thick with the weight of their bodies, every touch deliberate, hands gripping, mouths locked, no space left for anything but this.
