Johnny B pins Andy Taylor down with a grip that marks his shoulders, his dark hair slicked back from sweat as he drives into him hard on the couch. Andy’s tattooed ribs flex under the pressure, his hole stretched wide while Johnny’s fingers dig in, teasing and claiming. The air thickens with the wet sounds of sucking and the rough rasp of rimming, his cock glistening as he jerks himself off, one hand tangled in Andy’s hair. The bottom stays still, taking it all, every thrust, every sloppy pull of lips, every rough stroke of his own fist.
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