Buddy Davis grips Carter Nash’s hips, his dark hair slicked back as he pins him against the green backdrop, the red pattern bleeding into the frame. Nash’s smooth, muscular chest presses into the white cloth clutched in Davis’s fist, their mouths locked in a rough, open-mouthed kiss. Davis’s grip tightens, fingers digging into Nash’s waist as he lifts him just enough to drive home the first hard thrust.
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