Tomas Brand grips Dani Robles’ shoulders, his bearded jaw locked over his mouth as they grind against the cold stone wall, fingers digging into the white shirt clinging to his chest. Dani’s clean-shaven face flushes under the pressure, his muscular frame pinned between Brand’s grip and the rough surface, hands clawing at the black-clad body pressing him forward. The only sound is the wet slap of skin on stone, the way Brand’s hips snap home with every thrust, his grip tightening just before he buries himself deep.
