For a long moment, Chet concentrated on their kiss, the tender tongue inside his mouth, the metallic taste of the piercing at its center, the way the ball rubbed the roof of Chet’s mouth. Scott stroked their shafts with long, languid movements, fingers squeezing as he traced up and down the lengths, the saliva on Chet’s d**k adding lubrication to Scott’s. With his hands on the tattooist chair behind him, Chet held his own against Scott, wanting everything the man could offer, eager to prove he could take it.
Then Scott’s lips kissed across Chet’s jaw to his ear. “Bend over,” he purred.
The words warmed Chet up inside and tickled deep within him. Yes.
Scott stepped back just enough to let Chet turn in place. He fondled his c**k as he watched Chet assume the position—hands flat on the pad
