Paulo Saint grips Pietro Siren’s hips with tattooed forearms, his beard rough against the younger man’s clean-shaven jaw as they kneel on jagged rocks by the waves. The older man’s grip is relentless, fingers digging into muscle while Pietro arches back, his hole already slick with anticipation. The tide laps close enough to hear, but neither man breaks the hold, just the, unfiltered pull of one dominating the other’s body.
