Johnny Hazzard and Chris Rockway stand shoulder to shoulder, their dark hair framing broad, tattooed shoulders and chiseled muscles, the kind that ripple when they shift their weight. One grips a fistful of the other’s waistband, fingers digging into the fabric as he pulls them flush, their bodies angled just right to show the thick, veined cocks straining against the tight black material. The air hums with the promise of what’s next, no words needed.
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