European Holiday, Part 1

Steam rises in lazy curls from the oversized tub, where Max McKay sinks into the froth of bubbles, his broad shoulders cutting through the warm water like a blade. Nicolas Cole slips in behind him, legs parting to cradle Max's hips, their skin brushing with electric intent. Max tilts his head back, lips parting in a silent invitation, and Nicolas seizes it—kissing deep, tongues tangling with a hunger that shatters the tub's serene illusion. Hands roam. Nicolas's fingers trace the hard lines of Max's chest, pinching nipples to stiff peaks, while Max reaches back, gripping Nicolas's thigh, pulling him closer until their cocks press together under the suds, thick and insistent. The water sloshes as Max turns, water cascading down his torso in rivulets that Nicolas licks away, trailing his mouth lower. He takes Max in hand, stroking with firm, deliberate pulls, bubbles popping against heated flesh. Max groans, fingers threading into Nicolas's wet hair, guiding him down. Nicolas's lips wrap around him, sucking slow and deep, the bath's warmth mirroring the fire building between them. They fuck like this—raw, unyielding—Max thrusting into that eager mouth, hips bucking until release crashes over him, spilling hot into the swirl of foam. Nicolas rises then, claiming his turn, and Max obliges with the same fierce devotion, their bodies locked in a slick, slippery dance that leaves the bath a wreckage of passion.