Will Braun leans over the bed, his dark hair framing a smooth, unmarked face as he presses his mouth to Spencer Whitman’s, his beard rough against the other’s skin while Whitman, muscular and hairy-chested, grips the sheets with his hands. Braun’s glasses catch the light as he pulls Whitman down by the waist, their lips locked in a deep, open kiss that leaves Whitman’s head tilted back, his broad shoulders straining against the mattress. The standing man’s fingers dig into the fabric, holding on as Braun’s tongue slips inside, his own breath ragged against Whitman’s throat.
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