Thomas Fuk kneels over Peter One’s lap, his beard scraping against the dark hair framing the tight asshole he’s already licking open, while Peter One grips the couch arm for leverage, his cock already slick with spit. Fuk’s fingers dig into the crease, stretching the hole just as he sucks hard, the sound of wet flesh and breath mixing with the way Peter One’s hips buck up, his hands gripping Fuk’s shoulders to hold him in place. They strip in place, the couch cushions staining as Fuk flips him onto his stomach, his own cock already wet with saliva, and Peter One’s asshole glistening from the attention.
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