Billy Santoro grips Benjamin Bronx’s hips, slamming him down onto the locker room bench with the force of a man who knows exactly how hard he can push. The bearded one’s tattoos ripple as he drives into him, fingers digging into Bronx’s thighs while his own cock jerks in time, thick and unrelenting. Santoro doesn’t slow for sucking or fingering, just the wet slap of lips, the rough grind of flesh, the way Bronx’s hole clenches around him when Santoro finally stops to shove his own cock deep, his breath ragged against the cold metal of the locker behind them.
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