James West grips Mark Anthony’s hips, his military uniform stiff with discipline as he slams into him from behind, the olive skin of his back glistening with sweat. Mark Anthony kneels, his clean-shaven jaw clenched around James’s cock while his fingers dig into the asshole he’s already been preparing, the dark hair of his chest pressed against the uniform’s rigid fabric. The air fills with the wet sounds of sucking and the sharp inhale of rimming, their bodies locked in a rhythm where every thrust is a promise.
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