Spencer Whitman and Trent Locke

Spencer Whitman grips Trent Locke’s hips hard as he slams into him from behind, the laptop screen casting sharp shadows over the desk where Locke arches, fingers digging into the edge. Whitman’s dark hair falls forward as he pulls Locke’s head back by the hair, his mouth crashing down for rough, open-mouthed kisses while Locke’s fingers work his asshole with slow, deliberate pressure. The desk creaks under their weight as Whitman’s cock drives deeper, the sound of wet flesh and breath mixing with the low, guttural moans Locke lets out when Whitman finally lines up and starts fucking him.