River Wilson’s dark hair falls forward as he lies back, legs spread wide while John Anders, bearded, muscular, presses his weight between them, gripping the sheets. The striped bedding creases under their bodies as Anders guides himself into Wilson’s hole, slow and deliberate, the book forgotten on the sheets beside them. Wilson’s arms are braced behind his head, fingers flexing as Anders works him open, the rhythm already deep and unhurried.
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