Ayden Troy’s dark hair frames a broad, smooth chest as he leans forward, gripping Max Flint’s shoulders while their mouths crash together, teeth clashing, tongues twisting, while Flint’s mirrored reflection shows him gripping the couch armrest, fingers digging into the fabric as Troy’s hand slides down his back, thumb pressing just above the waistband. The air hums with the wet sound of their lips pulling apart, only for Troy’s fingers to hook into Flint’s belt, yanking him closer as the couch cushions dip under their weight, the reflection warping Flint’s body into a distorted silhouette against the glass.
