Trade

In the pulsing heart of the DJ booth, Alex Eden leans close, his voice cutting through the bass like a secret promise. 'You take requests?' he asks, eyes locked on Duncan Stone's profile, illuminated by the glow of screens and strobing lights. Duncan nods, a sly grin breaking as he pauses the track. Alex doesn't hesitate. 'Suck my cock,' he commands, the words raw and urgent. Duncan drops to his knees without a word, his hands swift on Alex's belt, freeing the hardening length with practiced hunger. He takes Alex deep, lips stretching around the thick shaft, tongue swirling in filthy rhythm to the thumping beat. Alex grips the edge of the console, hips thrusting forward, fucking Duncan's mouth with relentless drive. Spit slicks their skin; Duncan gags but pulls him closer, eyes watering with wicked delight. They switch, Alex shoving Duncan against the turntables, yanking down his pants to expose that tight ass. He spits into his palm, slicks himself, and plunges in—raw, deep, no mercy. Duncan moans into the mic, the sound lost in the club's roar as Alex pounds him, bodies slick with sweat, the booth a haze of heat and abandon. They come hard, Alex spilling inside, Duncan shuddering against the wood, the music swelling around their shared, savage release.