It started out slow; the frenzy from before had cooled off, but then fingers were yet again probing his flesh. Digging, kneading, clutching.
Oil, and skin, and sweat. Aiden moaned as Tristan breathed against the skin on his neck. His beard rasped his shoulder, sending shivers down his spine. Aiden was flying. He didn’t know where he ended and Tristan began. They moved as one, each thrust brought them closer. Aiden was on his way to shattering into a million pieces, but Tristan held him together.
“Tris…” he pleaded, but he didn’t know for what—for it to go on or for it to end; he wasnwrsquo;t sure. Tristan grunted and pushed into him at the same time as he pulled Aiden against him, nailing that spot, time and time again.