Trystan Bull grips Rylan Shaw’s hips, his knuckles white as he slams into him from behind on the locker room bench, the towel beneath them slick with sweat and need. Rylan’s head is buried in the towel, his ass clenched around Trystan’s thick cock, fingers already working his hole open while Trystan’s other hand grips his jaw, forcing his mouth down to take every rough thrust. The air smells of soap and muscle, the bench creaking under their weight as Trystan’s breath comes in sharp gasps, his grip tightening until Rylan’s back arches, taking every inch.
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