Topher, Trent, Rogue, Tony and Hunter

Hunter Marx and Rogue Status kneel on the wet sand, the tide lapping at their boots as Rogue’s calloused fingers trace the ridges of Hunter’s defined chest, his dark hair catching the sun’s glare. The bearded man grips Hunter’s wrist, pulling him closer for a rough kiss that leaves salt and sweat on their lips, while the ocean roars behind them, indifferent to the way their bodies press together.