Ryan Kneeds kneels over Nate Stetson’s spread legs, his tattooed arms steady as he probes the tight asshole with gloved fingers while Nate grips the edge of the exam table, his muscular back arched. The sterile light catches the sweat on Nate’s chest as Ryan shifts, one knee pressed into the crease of his thighs, fingers working deeper with deliberate pressure. Medical charts blur in the background, the only hint that this isn’t just a touch, it’s an inspection, a preparation, the slow build of something that won’t stop at the first thrust.
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