Marcello Mastro and Gustavo Henry

Marcello Mastro grips Gustavo Henry’s hips while his tongue forces open the other man’s mouth, fingers digging into the smooth, taut skin of his back as he pins him down. The bed creaks under their weight, Henry’s dark hair tangled with Marcello’s as his hands slide up the muscular chest, nails scraping just hard enough to mark. Their mouths stay locked, breath ragged, while Marcello’s grip tightens, no hesitation, just the press of one man holding another down.