Steven Roman grips the boat’s edge, his bearded jaw tight as he leans in with the force of a man who doesn’t ask, he takes. The tattoos on his arms ripple under the open white shirt, his muscles straining as he drives deep, the boat’s wood groaning under his weight. Brian Michaels stands behind him, his dark hair falling forward as he guides the thrusts, fingers digging into Roman’s hips to keep him locked in place. The air smells of salt and sweat, the only sound the wet slap of flesh against wood.
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