Brock Armstrong and Kirk Cummings

Brock Armstrong’s tattooed arms grip the bench as he flips Kirk Cummings onto his back, his shaved head leaning down to drag his tongue along the other’s throat before swallowing his cock whole. The locker room’s concrete floor hums under their weight as Kirk spreads his legs, fingers already working his hole while Brock’s palm slides between them, tracing the tight ring before pressing inside. The air thickens with the sound of wet suction and the sharp inhale of Kirk’s breath when Brock finally drives into him, his hips snapping forward with the rough, relentless thrusts of a man who knows exactly what he wants.