Jack Andy grips Adin Smith’s hips hard as he drives into him from behind, the locker room bench groaning under their weight while Adin’s fingers dig into the metal. His dark hair falls forward as Jack Andy’s mouth seals over his cock, swallowing deep before pulling back to lick the head. Adin’s free hand jerks himself off against the locker, his breath ragged, while Jack Andy’s tattooed forearm flexes with every thrust, the sound of flesh slapping wet.
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