Beno Eker’s beard brushes Joel Tamir’s chest as he grips his own wrist, tongue tracing the slick skin of his palm while Joel’s dark hair falls forward, obscuring his face. The slim, smooth body beneath him shifts slightly, the weight of Beno’s hips pressing just enough to make the air between them thick with anticipation. Joel’s fingers curl around the edge of the bed, nails digging in as Beno’s mouth works faster, the wet sound cutting through the quiet. The only thing that makes this different is how close they are, close enough to feel the heat of each other’s breath, close enough for Joel to taste the salt on Beno’s tongue.
