Nic Sahara’s thick arms coil around Johnny Rapid’s waist as he pins him down, the couch’s edge digging into his ribs while Johnny’s tattooed chest rises with sharp, uneven breaths. Sahara’s fingers dig into the back of his neck, holding him still as he drags his mouth down Johnny’s throat, teeth scraping the pulse point before his tongue slips inside. Johnny’s hands grip the couch cushions, his hole already slick as Sahara lines up, the blunt head pressing past his resistance with a slow, deliberate thrust. The couch creaks under them as Sahara drives forward, his hips snapping back to slam home again and again, the sound of flesh meeting flesh loud enough to drown out everything else.
