"Can't be too careful," Taras muttered, lips compressing briefly.

He leaned into Liadov's side, letting him feel his weight, and the potent trained strength of his physique. Liadov arched against him in turn, body lithe and yielding, but solid.

Taras kissed him.

He let it be slow and hard. His tongue in Lidaov's mouth, making the kiss deep, matching the languor with which he stroked Liadov's cock.

There was something very open and responsive about Liadov. He did not try to hold himself back, but instead always seemed driven by an achingly restless hunger.

"This is crazy," he breathed, again, between kisses. "I think you're crazy."

Taras rubbed his crotch into Liadov's hip, grinding with raw, vulgar need.

"How'd you get the taste for this, Liadov? Rough like this. With someone like me."