Micah West grips Theo Brady’s hips hard while his tongue forces open Brady’s lips, fingers digging into the waistband of his shorts as the balcony railing cuts into their backs. Brady’s smooth chest presses against West’s, breath ragged as he arches into the touch, jeans still clinging tight around his thighs. The air between them is thick with the weight of West’s grip and the slick heat of Brady’s mouth.
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