Casper Ivarsson’s hands grip Alex Faux’s hips as he drives into him from behind, the bed creaking under their weight. Faux kneels forward, his smooth, slim body arched to meet each thrust, while Ivarsson’s fingers dig into his waist, one hand still tangled in his hair as he sucks hard. The air thickens with the wet sounds of lips and flesh, fingers sliding between them before the rhythm turns rougher, deeper.
