Maverick Sun and Cody Viper sit side by side on a couch, the dark-haired, clean-shaven, muscular Cody Viper gripping the armrest while Maverick Sun leans forward with his hands on his thighs, the tension in his posture as he watches Cody Viper’s fingers trace a line down his chest. The clothes peel away, first a shirt, then a belt, until only skin remains, Cody Viper’s grip tightening around Maverick Sun’s waist as he pulls him closer, the air thick with the sound of breath and the wet slap of tongue against flesh.
