“Yes,” he sighs as Van burrows into his neck. Tiny kisses flick over Colby’s collar bone and along his throat. He thrusts against Van, eager in his need. “Yes.”
Another kiss silences him. When he rubs his c**k alongside Van’s, his gasp of lust is lost in Van’s hot mouth. The two hump against each other with a rhythm that matches the pounding surf, Colby’s hands ringed around their twin lengths, his fingers smeared with pre-c*m. He plucks at the tip of his d**k, giving it a little tweak, then does the same to Van’s. Above him, Van shudders and rocks, his kisses sloppy as he moves faster. “God,” he breathes, and “yes,” and “uh uh uh yeah,” a litany that echoes through Colby’s head in time with the waves against the shore.
Colby feels Van’s c**k shudder in his hand two seconds before his pa
