Macho Nacho and Randy Pacheco stand shoulder to shoulder, their broad, tattooed chests flexing as they grip each other’s hips, one’s dark hair slicked back, the other’s beard rough against skin. Nacho’s fingers dig into Randy’s waist while he bends low, his mouth already on the other’s neck, teeth grazing the pulse. The air hums with the weight of their bodies, the way Randy’s breath hitches when Nacho’s hand slips lower, fingers tracing the seam of his jeans.
