Jorik Tautou and Elio Chalamet

Jorik Tautou grips Elio Chalamet’s hips hard enough to bruise, his knuckles white as he pins him against the window. Chalamet’s mouth opens on a gasp, tongue already swiping up the slick seam of Jorik’s lips before his fingers drag down to tease the tight ring of his ass. The glass presses cold against their flushed skin, the only barrier between them and the world outside.