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Rhys shoves Joe to the wall. The other man gasps for breath, but Rhys dives right back, attacking his mouth. Pinning Joe’s hands, Rhys takes the chance to grasp the man’s wedding finger and pull it off of him. He hates that thing.
Rhys smirks as Joe only looks at him with dark, blown out eyes. Curls falling over his face and his lips a bright red. Rhys shoves the ring in his pocket, knows Joe will be pissed at him if he loses it. But he’s too busy unbuttoning the man’s shirt to care about that.
“Rhys,” Joe growls out.
It’s like music to his ears.
It’s his name in his mouth, not her’s. It’s his hands on Joe’s skin, not her’s. Joe’s is his his his. Not her’s. Not here.
Joe can play the pretty, obedient husband out there. But in here, Rhys scrapes his teeth down Joe’s neck, and the other man throws his head back. Let’s him. Rhys could give him everything.
Rhys takes a moment to breathe. Feels the ring in his pocket like it's burning. Feels the weight of their own choices as Rhys bites down into flesh.