Steven Ponce leans over the armrest, his dark hair framing a face pressed close as he guides Lance Hart’s fingers to the tight, puckered hole of the third man, who sits rigid on the couch, adjusting his clothes with one hand while the other grips the armrest. The bearded one kneels between them, his muscular frame blocking the light as he points at the hole, his lips already brushing the skin there before his tongue dives in. The slim, clean-shaven man on the couch doesn’t move, just lets the pressure build, his fingers digging into the armrest as the other two work him open.
