Lay Down That Pipe

Paul Canon and Aston Springs stand over the one still in uniform, his clipboard forgotten as his mouth works the other’s asshole, while the third watches with a water bottle in hand. The muscular one with the chest tattoo grips his hips, driving deep before pulling back to lick the slickness from his fingers. No words, no hesitation, just the wet slap of flesh and the way the uniformed man gasps into the kiss on his throat.