It was just a lunch. A casual, get together with friends. Blue jeans, T-shirts, bottle beer, pre-season football on the television above the bar. Fresh smell of Marlboros and Camels, dirty jokes about dumb blondes and every time their eyes met, conscious thought left Christian. Pictures played inside, glazing the blue.
Wrists strained against thick rope. Legs wide. Dark eyes covered with black silk, the taste of precome. Sweat that collected, droplets reflecting the candles and Dave’s skin quivered under his lips when Chris followed, caught them. Constant moans, gruff, rapid breaths taken and released from the man under him.