A rising artist

Xeno could only squeak out his protest at being picked up and manhandled before he found himself tossed on top of their sleeping bags. Stanley crawled on top of him, straddling his lap and grinding his hardened member against Xeno’s crotch. 

His breath hitched as he took in the sight of Stanley above him: his eyes were heavily lidded and slanted with danger. A look crossed between needy and domineering darkened his face. His tongue flicked out and lapped at a streak of blood that was left on his lip from their earlier kiss. Tan hands clawed at the back of his shirt, ripping it off with no time to waste. A smile, bearing teeth sharp and poised to tear into the silver-haired teen, shown menacingly as his hands made quick work of his belt and unbuttoned his pants.