The door clicked shut, the world locked out. It was just us now. My hands, tattooed and rough, found his smooth tattooed body pulling him against me. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, a frantic rhythm that matched my own. A silent promise of what was to come. The frenzy came first. It was hungry, desperate. Clothes were a nuisance. My uncut cock, thick and heavy, slid against his thigh, leaving a wet trail of precum. I entered him in one slow, deliberate thrust, feeling his body yield and clench around me. The pace was punishing, a raw, animalistic drive to fuse together. My balls slapped against him with each deep plunge, the room filling with the sounds of our grunts and the headboard hitting the wall. It was pure, unadulterated lust, a storm we willingly got lost in. But then, the storm would break. The ebb. We’d collapse, tangled and sweating, my cock still nestled deep inside him as we caught our breath. In those quiet moments, the love would surface. I’d kiss him, savoring the tenderness. We’d talk in whispers, our connection deeper than just physical. Then, a look, a touch, a shift of his hips, and the current would pull us back under. The lust would reignite, slower this time, more deliberate. I’d roll him onto his stomach, worshiping his body with my mouth before sliding back inside, this time aiming to unravel him with long, deep strokes that made him cry out my name.