The blond stands with his hands on a weathered fence, gripping the wood as the other leans against a rustic post, both watching the sheep graze nearby, until one bends to stroke the wool, then the other follows, fingers tracing the curve of his back before slipping lower. The fence creaks as they shift, the sheep’s wool soft beneath their touch, then one pulls the other close, pressing against the warm, muscled body before the first kneels, lips finding the tight, waiting hole.
By Buk Buddies
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