Bruce Querelle lies still while Helmut Huxley grips his hips, fingers probing deep as the third man leans in for a rough kiss. The stocky one’s muscular frame presses down, his dark hair framing a face set on dominance, while Querelle’s smooth skin bears the marks of their grip. On green-patterned sheets, tongues clash and teeth graze as a hand slides between thighs, preparing the way.
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