"We should eat," Ethan murmured eventually, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Alex’s sweat-slick back, his breath warm against his collarbone. The words were half-hearted at best. The cooler sat untouched a few feet away, its contents growing warmer by the second.
Alex snorted, stretching beneath him with a satisfied groan. "You first." He couldn’t help the smirk when Ethan nipped his shoulder in retaliation, his beard rough against his skin.
They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled in the moss, the distant crash of waves the only sound beyond their breathing. Then, with a grunt, Ethan pushed himself up, stretching until his spine popped. Sunlight gilded the scratches on his back, the marks Alex had left earlier. He glanced over his shoulder, catching Alex’s stare, and grinned.
"Fine," he said, stepping over to the cooler with exaggerated care, his gait just shy of a swagger. He rummaged inside, tossing a wrapped sandwich onto the moss before pulling out two bottles of water. He twisted the cap off one, taking a long swig before tossing the other to Alex.
The water was lukewarm, but it did little to dampen the satisfaction curdling in Alex’s gut as he watched Ethan peel the wrapper off the sandwich with his teeth. The man ate like he did everything else — with single-minded focus, barely pausing to chew before taking another bite.
Alex smirked. "Hungry?"
Ethan paused mid-bite, his eyes narrowing. Then, deliberately, he lowered the sandwich, leaning in until his breath ghosted over Alex’s lips. "Starving," he murmured, before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his tongue flicking out to catch the last traces of salt there.
Alex laughed, shoving him away — half-hearted — as Ethan turned back to the cooler with a smirk. The metal hinges groaned when he flipped the lid wider, revealing rows of wax-paper packets, nestled between melting ice packs. Peeling one open revealed slices of chilled mango, the flesh glistening like amber in the morning light. Another yielded strips of cured meat, salty and rich, the fat marbled through it starting to soften in the heat.
Ethan tossed a mango slice into the air, catching it between his teeth with a flash of white. Juice dripped down his beard as he chewed, watching Alex with hooded eyes. "They packed rum," he said suddenly, pulling a slender flask from the depths of the cooler. The liquid inside sloshed, pale gold in the sunlight. "Cheap shit. Tourist-grade."
Alex snatched it from him, unscrewing the cap with his teeth. The scent hit him first — overripe pineapple, burnt sugar — before the alcohol seared his throat. He coughed, shoving the flask back into Ethan’s chest. "Told you. Cheap."
Ethan’s grin was wicked as he tipped the flask to his lips, swallowing without flinching. "Tastes better," he said, leaning in, "when you share it." His mouth was hot when it covered Alex’s, the rum between them syrupy-sweet, the bite of it dulled by the press of tongues. Alex groaned when Ethan pulled away, licking his lips. "Now try it."
Alex did. And — damn him — he was right.
The rum burned differently on Ethan’s tongue, tempered by the salt-sweet press of his lips. Alex chased the taste, licking into his mouth until the flask tipped forgotten onto the moss, its contents seeping into the earth between them. Ethan’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, until the last drops evaporated on their tongues and the only proof left was the slow, molten heat pooling in Alex’s gut.
They packed the cooler with the languid ease of men who knew time was irrelevant here, nestling it between the gnarled roots of a palm where the shade stretched longest. Ethan tested the lid twice — more out of habit than necessity — before straightening, his gaze skimming the tree line. “East or west first?”
Alex stretched, rolling his shoulders until the joints popped. “Surprise me.”
Ethan’s smirk was all the warning he got before the man took off, sprinting barefoot toward the shoreline, his laughter carried away by the wind. Alex cursed, giving chase, the sand hot beneath his feet, the surf licking at his ankles as they rounded the first bend. The island was small enough that the ocean never left their periphery — an ever-present murmur, sometimes a roar, as they traced its contours.
They discovered tide pools cupped in volcanic rock, their surfaces trembling with trapped seawater and the occasional flash of silver scales. Ethan crouched to skim his fingers through one, sending tiny crabs scuttling for cover. “Dinner,” he mused, glancing up at Alex with a grin that promised mischief.
Further on, the sand gave way to jagged black stone, forcing them to pick their way carefully, their soles toughening with each step. Ethan paused once, pointing to a cleft in the rock where the waves had carved a shallow grotto. The water inside was preternaturally still, mirror-clear, revealing a mosaic of sea glass and coral fragments beneath the surface. Alex dipped a hand in, surprised by the chill. “Too deep to stand,” he noted, watching the way the light fractured through his fingers.
Ethan’s shoulder brushed his as they moved on. “Next time.”
The words hung between them, unexamined, as they completed their circuit. The sun was high when they collapsed back onto the moss, their skin tingling with salt and sunburn. Ethan’s fingers found his without looking, their palms pressed together, sticky with sweat.
Alex turned his head, catching the way the light gilded Ethan’s profile. “Lunch first,” he murmured, “or —”
Ethan was already rolling atop him, his grin a promise. “Or.”
Alex let himself be pushed onto his back, moss cool beneath his shoulders as Ethan settled between his thighs. But this time, he reversed their momentum with a slow, insistent pressure — guiding Ethan onto his back instead, pinning him with the weight of his body and the heat in his gaze. He kissed him deeply, savoring the taste of mango and rum on Ethan’s tongue, before trailing his lips lower — down the column of his throat, the slope of his chest, pausing to lave at each nipple until Ethan arched beneath him with a shuddered breath.
Alex took his time worshipping Ethan’s body, his hands mapping the terrain of muscle and coarse hair, fingertips tracing the sensitive dip of his navel before dipping lower. He nuzzled the thick thatch at the base of Ethan’s cock, inhaling the musk of salt and sex, before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his shaft. His tongue dragged upward in one slow, wet stroke, relishing the way Ethan’s hips jerked involuntarily. He took him into his mouth without haste, hollowing his cheeks around his girth, savoring the weight on his tongue as he worked him with deep, deliberate sucks — each one drawing a breathy curse from Ethan’s lips.
When he finally pulled off, Ethan was panting, his cock glistening with spit. Alex didn’t stop — he slid lower, spreading Ethan’s thighs wider to press a slick finger against his entrance, circling slowly before pushing inside. He curled his finger just so, brushing against that sweet spot that made Ethan’s back bow off the moss with a ragged groan. He added another finger, scissoring gently, working him open with torturous patience until Ethan was writhing, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
Alex leaned over him, pressing their foreheads together as he withdrew his fingers. “Ready?” he murmured, guiding his cock to Ethan’s loosened hole with one steady hand. Ethan’s nod was barely more than a jerk of his chin, his eyes dark and fixed on Alex’s as the latter sank into him inch by inch, their exhales mingling in the humid air. The heat was unbearable, the tight clutch of Ethan’s body around him almost too much, but Alex didn’t rush — he sheathed himself fully, pausing to let them both adjust, his thumb stroking the sharp ridge of Ethan’s hipbone.
When he finally began to move, it was with slow, rolling thrusts, each one deeper than the last, each withdrawal a sweet torment. Ethan arched into it, his hands sliding up Alex’s sweat-slick back, fingers splaying between his shoulder blades as their bodies moved in perfect sync. Alex kept the pace achingly tender, angling his hips just right to drag against Ethan’s prostate with every push, drawing broken moans from his lips, each one swallowed by the press of their mouths together.
Their coupling was unhurried, a languid dance of flesh and breath and murmured words lost between kisses. Alex could feel the moment Ethan began to unravel beneath him — the way his thighs trembled, the way his fingers dug into his skin without urgency, just holding on as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. He reached between them, wrapping his hand around Ethan’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts until Ethan came with a shuddering gasp, his hot sperm painting their stomachs in thick, white streaks. Alex followed moments later, his own climax crashing over him like a slow tide, spilling his seed into Ethan's bowels, with a groan muffled against his shoulder.
They stayed like that afterward, still joined, their breaths mingling as the sun painted gold across their tangled limbs. Ethan’s fingers traced idle patterns on Alex’s spine, his heartbeat steady beneath his palm. Neither spoke. There was no need.
Eventually, Alex’s softening cock slipped free, leaving Ethan’s hole slick and gaping slightly — just for a moment before muscle memory clenched him shut again. A shudder ran through Ethan’s body, subtle but unmistakable, and Alex chuckled low in his throat before rolling onto his back beside him, moss cool against his sweat-damp skin.
"If we're going to keep up this pace," Alex mused, stretching lazily, "we really should have some lunch before it gets too late in the day." His stomach growled as if on cue.
Ethan snorted, pushing himself upright with a wince — his muscles protested, well-used. "You mean you should," he countered, but he was already heading for the cooler, his gait loose-limbed and unhurried.
They rummaged through the contents together, shoulders brushing. Wax paper crinkled as they unwrapped sandwiches — soft bread, thin slices of cured meat, something green and crisp tucked inside. Ethan tossed him a packet of salted nuts, which Alex caught one-handed, tearing it open with his teeth.
Back on the moss, they ate in comfortable silence, trading bites of sandwich halves without discussion. Ethan licked mustard from his thumb, then stole a slice of mango from Alex’s portion with a smirk. The juice dripped down his chin, glistening, until Alex leaned in to lick it clean — slow, deliberate, his tongue dragging over stubble and soft skin.
Ethan’s breath hitched, but Alex pulled away with a grin, stretching out beside him. "Nap first," he murmured, closing his eyes, "then round five."
Ethan’s laugh rumbled through the moss as he settled beside him, close enough that their bodies aligned naturally, heat radiating between them. The ocean sighed in the distance. Overhead, a palm frond rustled. Alex felt Ethan’s fingers curl around his wrist — not pulling, just holding — as sleep crept in.
*****
Alex woke to Ethan’s thumb tracing idle circles on his sternum. The sun had shifted, painting stripes of gold across Ethan’s chest hair. For a while, neither spoke. The silence was easy.
"You ever think about getting a dog?" Ethan’s voice was rough with sleep, his fingers still moving absently.
Alex turned his head, squinting. "Is this a metaphor?"
Ethan grinned, unrepentant. "No. Just a dog." His palm flattened over Alex’s ribs. "Big one. Dumb as rocks. Sheds everywhere."
"Christ." Alex snorted. "You’ve planned this."
"Didn’t say my hypothetical dog." Ethan’s fingers drifted lower, tracing the trail of hair below Alex’s navel. "Though if we’re fantasizing —"
"— we’re not getting a dog together."
Ethan’s smirk was infuriating. "We?"
Alex kicked him halfheartedly. "Fuck off."
Ethan caught his ankle, yanking him closer until their legs tangled. "You’re right," he murmured, breath warm against Alex’s cheek. "Fish would be less commitment."
Alex groaned. "You’re impossible."
"And yet." Ethan kissed him, slow and lingering. "Here you are."
The truth of it settled between them, unspoken. Alex studied the flecks of green in Ethan’s hazel eyes, the way the fading sunlight caught the silver in his beard. "What’s your real name?"
Ethan blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your parents didn’t name you Ethan." Alex gestured vaguely at his chest. "Not with that crucifix tattoo."
Ethan’s laugh was startled, genuine. His thumb brushed the ink in question — a crude cross above his left pec. "Michael," he admitted after a beat. "But I left that behind when I ditched seminary and came out."
Alex arched a brow. "You’re joking."
"Swear to God." Ethan’s grin turned wolfish. "Or don’t."
Alex exhaled through his nose. "Alex is short for —"
"— Alexander," Ethan finished, nodding. "Obvious."
"And wrong." Alex stretched, enjoying Ethan’s confused blink. "Aleksander. Polish grandmother."
Ethan stared. Then burst out laughing, rolling onto his back. "Jesus. We’re both frauds."
The waves answered. Neither corrected him.
Alex watched Ethan’s lips purse — not angry, just recalibrating. The crucifix glinted when he shifted onto his elbow. "Fine," he amended. "Tell me something true."
Sand gritted between Alex’s molars when he smirked. "I bite."
Ethan’s laugh was sharp, real. He palmed Alex’s thigh, thumb pressing the soft inner flesh where teeth marks still lingered. "Noted." His touch traveled higher, pausing at the crest of Alex’s hip. "Try again."
The moss smelled of crushed green and salt when Alex rolled atop him. He spoke against Ethan’s mouth: "I don’t share well." He proved it by sucking a hickey into his collarbone.
Ethan’s fingers tangled in his hair — not pulling, just holding. "Bullshit," he murmured. "You gave me half your sandwich."
Alex nipped his jaw. "That was tactical. Needed your strength."
Ethan’s hips arched, grinding their half-hard cocks together in a slow, filthy roll. "Admit it." His breath hitched when Alex’s teeth found his earlobe. "You’re a fucking romantic."
The confession came tangled in a groan as Alex reached between them, wrapping calloused fingers around them both. "Only," he panted, "for —" His rhythm stuttered when Ethan bucked into his grip. "— this. For you."
Truth hung thick as the humidity between their sweat-slicked chests. Ethan’s pulse jumped under Alex’s lips — not at the words, but the twist of his wrist, the thumb swiping precome across his slit. Their shared gasp drowned the gulls’ cries.
Lies were easier. Neither minded.
"Now it's your turn," Alex said, fingers tracing the scar on Ethan's — no, Michael's — left pectoral where the crucifix's horizontal bar ended in jagged ink. "What in your past do you feel comfortable sharing?"
Ethan caught his wrist, pressing Alex's palm flat over the tattoo. "I stole my first kiss from Father Donahue behind the sacristy curtains," he admitted. The old humor was there, but his thumb moved restlessly over Alex's knuckles. "Twelve years old. He tasted like communion wine and menthol cough drops." A pause. "Got expelled three weeks later when Sister Marguerite caught me jerking off in the confessional."
Alex snorted. "Holy shit."
"Almost literally." Ethan's grin faded as he studied their hands. "My parents sent me to conversion camp that summer. Lasted six days before I snapped a counselor's wrist for grabbing my dick during 'arousal aversion therapy.'" The moss rustled when he shrugged. "I ran away from home at sixteen. Worked truck stops until I could pass for eighteen. The rest ..." His fingers tightened briefly. "You probably can guess the rest."
Alex did. The underground wrestling circuits. The nameless hotel rooms. The way Ethan moved like a man who'd learned to take pleasure where he could get it, fast and fierce before it disappeared.
Ethan rolled onto him suddenly, pinning Alex's wrists beside his head. "Your turn," he murmured against his mouth. "One truth for one truth."
Alex exhaled through his nose. "Got arrested at nineteen for fucking at a public pool."
Ethan's laugh vibrated against his collarbone. "Romantic."
"Lifeguard's chair," Alex amended. "With the lifeguard."
"Christ." Ethan nipped his jaw. "Tell me you —"
"— got community service scraping gum off park benches? Yeah." Alex arched into Ethan's weight. "It was worth it."
Ethan kissed him then — slow, deep, tasting of mango and the ghost of rum. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed Alex's lower lip. "Keep going."
Alex did.
The confession spilled out like warm honey — how he'd lost his virginity to his best friend's older brother in a toolshed during a thunderstorm, the scent of motor oil and rain-soaked earth clinging to them. How he'd lied about it for years, pretending his first time was with some faceless girl. Ethan listened, his thumb stroking the hollow of Alex's throat as the sun bled orange across his shoulders.
"And the wrestling?" Ethan asked when he finished, his voice rough. He already knew the answer — they'd recognized it in each other's bodies from the start — but the question hung between them anyway.
Alex flexed beneath him, tendons shifting under Ethan's palms. "I tried football first. Too many rules." His grin was sharp. "Wrestling let me get away with putting my hands on guys. Longer."
Ethan exhaled a laugh against his collarbone. His tongue followed the path of an old scar — a souvenir from a steel chair — before murmuring, "Show me."
They rolled together, limbs tangling, moss cool against their backs as they grappled without urgency. Ethan's knee slotted between Alex's thighs, his forearm braced against his throat just shy of pressure. Alex countered by arching his hips, grinding their hardening cocks together with a slow, filthy roll that drew twin groans. Their movements weren't combat now but conversation — each shift of muscle, each yielding press speaking louder than words.
Ethan pinned him eventually, their sweat-slick chests heaving, his mouth hovering inches above Alex's. "Still got it," he taunted, breath hot.
Alex surged up to capture his lips, biting just hard enough to make Ethan gasp. "Never lost it."
Their laughter melted into another kiss, slower this time, tongues sliding together with new familiarity. The boat engine growled again — closer now — but neither pulled away. Ethan's fingers traced the shell of Alex's ear before threading through his hair.
"My turn," he murmured against his lips.
Alex felt the confession in the way Ethan's body tensed before relaxing utterly, in the hitch of his breath against his mouth.
"I want this to last."
Simple. Devastating.
Alex answered by rolling them over, pressing Ethan into the moss. Their kiss tasted of salt and something dangerously like hope.
They never noticed the approaching boat's engine until it cut out abruptly. Footsteps crunched on sand nearby—too close. A voice called out in cheerful German. Ethan froze beneath him, fingers digging into Alex's hips. Alex didn't move, didn't breathe, his forehead pressed to Ethan's as they listened to the fading chatter of tourists moving away along the shoreline.
Ethan's exhale warmed Alex's lips when the voices faded. "Christ," he whispered, hands sliding up Alex's sweat-slick back. "I thought we'd have —"
"— more time." Alex finished the sentence with a press of lips to Ethan's jaw. The admission hung between them, raw as the fading marks on Ethan's shoulders.
Ethan's palm found Alex's cheek, rough with calluses yet unbearably tender. "Take me into the water."
They left the cooler wedged between roots, their footsteps silent on the twilight sand. The sea swallowed them slowly — ankles, knees, thighs — each step a surrender to the deepening tide. When the water reached their hips, Ethan turned, his back flush against Alex's chest, the salt-sting of waves lapping at their tangled fingers.
Ethan's breath hitched when Alex's cock pressed against him from behind, already half-hard. The ocean rocked them together in a rhythm older than language. Alex mouthed at the nape of Ethan's neck, tasting salt and sunburn as his hands slid around Ethan's waist, down through the hair between his thighs.
Their coupling was slow, inevitable — Ethan arching back onto him with a groan as Alex pushed inside, the water buoying their movements. Currents caressed their joined bodies, each thrust sending ripples across the moonlit surface. Ethan's fingers interlaced with Alex's where they gripped his hipbone, holding on as if anchors were meaningless now.
Alex didn't rush. He savored the way Ethan's muscles clenched around him with each withdrawal, the way his breath stuttered when the waves lifted them just right. The ocean muffled everything — the slick sounds of their bodies, Ethan's bitten-off moans — transforming them into something private, primal. Alex kissed the salt from Ethan's shoulder as their rhythm built, hips rolling in counterpoint to the tide.
Ethan reached back blindly, fingers sinking into Alex's hair as his own cock bobbed in the water, flushed and leaking. "Touch me," he gasped, and Alex obeyed, wrapping a calloused hand around him, stroking in time with his thrusts. The angle was awkward, their bodies trembling with the effort of standing, but neither cared — not when Ethan was coming undone in his arms, his orgasm crashing over him in silent waves, his seed lost to the sea.
Alex followed moments later, his lips kissing Ethan's trapezius as pleasure wrenched through him, his hips stuttering against Ethan's ass. They stayed like that afterward — trembling, spent, the ocean lapping at their waists — Ethan's fingers still tangled in Alex's hair as if he feared letting go would mean the tide carrying them apart.
When they finally waded ashore, sand clung to their damp skin like constellations. Ethan collapsed onto the beach first, pulling Alex down beside him. Their fingers found each other again without looking, interlaced between their bodies as the tide receded inch by inch.
Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose, then turned his face toward Alex. His thumb brushed the back of Alex's hand once, twice, before releasing him.
Neither spoke. The moon climbed higher.
Then Alex rolled onto his side, tracing the crucifix tattoo with a calloused thumb. "Come home with me." The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples through Ethan's expression. "Share my house. My life. My –" His throat clicked. "Christ. My love, Ethan."
Ethan's grin cracked open like sunrise, bright enough to hurt. "I'd love to," he said simply, as if it were that easy. Maybe it was.
The cooler's hinges groaned when Alex reached for the rum flask — empty now — just to have something to grip. Ethan's fingers covered his, warm and sure. "You're serious."
"Deadly." Alex turned the flask over, watching the last drops darken the sand. "There's a guest room full of wrestling trophies you can ignore. The kitchen needs remodeling, but the shower –" His voice roughened. "Fits two."
Ethan's kiss tasted of salt and surrender. When he pulled back, his beard scraped Alex's cheek. "What about the dog?"
Alex snorted. "Fuck the dog."
Ethan's laughter rolled across the beach. His palm settled over Alex's sternum, right where his heartbeat thudded. "Already did," he murmured. "Twice today."
Laughter sounded in the distance. Ethan made a rude gesture toward the noise before rolling atop Alex, his weight familiar now. "Tell me about your sheets," he demanded, biting Alex's earlobe. "Thread count."
Alex gasped when Ethan's knee slid between his thighs. "Six hundred." Lie. They were bargain-bin cotton. "White." Truth — if you counted grey as a shade of white.
Ethan groaned like it mattered. His hips rolled in a slow, filthy grind that had Alex arching off the sand. "Tell me about your neighbors," he breathed against his lips. "Are they nosy?"
"Deaf." Alex gripped his ass, pulling him closer. "Eighty-year-old twins."
Ethan's grin turned feral. "Tell me –"
Alex flipped them, pinning Ethan into the cooling sand. "I'll show you," he growled. "Every inch."
The incoming tide erased their footprints as they stumbled through the trees, laughing between kisses, already half-hard again. By the shore, a speedboat waited to carry them back to the hotel, signaling the end of their desert island adventure. Neither looked back.
*****
Ethan's hotel room smelled of sun-warmed linen and the citrus aftershave he hadn't bothered using since his arrival. He pinned Alex against the door the moment it clicked shut, sucking a bruise into his neck while fumbling blindly for the AC remote. The damp swim trunks they wore when they got back to the resort dropped to the floor with a wet plop. Cold air hissed from the vents as Alex walked Ethan backward toward the bed, their cocks dragging together.
They took their time unraveling each other — Ethan mouthing slow circles around Alex's nipple while peeling his shorts down with teasing slowness; Alex retaliating by biting the waistband of Ethan's boxers before yanking them off with his teeth. The bed groaned when Ethan rolled atop him, their bodies aligning with the ease of men who'd memorized each other's contours in daylight.
Ethan's thrusts were deeper here, unhurried by sand or tides. Alex arched into each stroke, heels digging into the mattress's plush give, fingers tangled in Ethan's chest hair. Sweat pooled between them, dripping onto the crisp hotel sheets when Ethan shifted angles to drag his cock against that spot that made Alex swear in three languages.
Afterward, they lay sprawled across the rumpled duvet, legs intertwined, Ethan's fingers tracing idle circles on Alex's thigh. The balcony doors stood open, letting in the scent of frangipani and distant grilling meat. Far below, a couple argued about sunscreen.
Alex turned his head to watch moonlight stripe Ethan's profile. "Still want that dog?"
Ethan's grin flashed white in the dark. "Only if it watches."
Laughter vibrated between them as they drifted toward sleep, Ethan's arm heavy across Alex's ribs, his breath warm against his shoulder. The AC hummed. The sea sighed. And beneath it all, steady as a pulse, the unspoken promise of morning.
Alex woke first to the scent of Ethan's skin — salt and sex and something indefinably his. The sheets were twisted around their legs, the pillowcase damp where Ethan had bitten it hours before. Outside, the sky bruised purple toward dawn, the resort stirring below like a sleeping beast. Alex traced the crucifix tattoo with his tongue, tasting sleep and sweat, until Ethan groaned and rolled atop him without opening his eyes.
Their coupling was slow, drowsy — Ethan moving inside him with the lazy confidence of a man who knew he wouldn't be turned away. Alex arched into each thrust, nails scoring Ethan's back as the first seabirds called outside. There was no frenzy now, just the quiet certainty of bodies that had memorized each other's rhythms. Ethan came with a sigh against his throat, his hips stuttering once, twice, before stilling. Alex followed moments later, his cum striping their stomachs as the sky lightened to gray.
They dozed tangled together until housekeeping knocked. Ethan growled something obscene into the pillow while Alex chucked a shampoo bottle at the door. The retreating footsteps smelled like disapproval.
"Breakfast?" Alex murmured when the room quieted.
Ethan's hand slid possessively down his flank. "You first."
The mango slices were overripe, the coffee lukewarm, but neither cared. They fed each other with sticky fingers, licking juice from wrists, stealing kisses between bites. Ethan's beard rasped against Alex's chin when he leaned in to suck a drop of rum from his lower lip.
"Checkout's at eleven," Alex noted, watching Ethan's pupils dilate.
Ethan's teeth grazed his knuckle. "We have late checkout."
The bed groaned when they fell back into it.
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