Harry Lawson and the tattooed one strip on a couch, the blond’s fingers already working the other’s tight hole while his own hand grips his thigh. The blue shorts vanish, leaving only skin and the blond’s mouth sealing over the asshole, his tongue pushing deep as the watching one strokes himself. The white-socked man lies back, his chest rising fast under the fingers that never stop, his head thrown back as the other’s grip tightens on his hair.
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