Zak Spears grips Carlo Masi’s hips as he drives into him from behind, the striped couch creaking under their weight while Masi’s fingers dig into the fabric. Spears’ beard scrapes his back as he slams deeper, the dark hair on Masi’s chest rising with each thrust. Masi’s hole clenches around him, lips parted in a silent gasp as Spears’ tongue traces the sweat from his neck. Their bodies move in rough, unbroken rhythm, the only sound the wet slap of skin.
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