Damien Stone grips Jacob Peterson’s hips while he kneels, his patterned shirt wrinkled from gripping the fabric, as the bearded man’s tongue sweeps deep into his mouth, no hands, no pause. The other’s bare chest glistens under the light, muscles flexing as he leans in, his dark hair falling just past the collar. They don’t break the kiss to adjust, just hold each other tighter, the jeans straining where the shirtless man’s fingers dig in.
