Armando De Armas grips Felix Fox’s hips, his fingers digging into the stocky frame as he pulls him flush against the wooden crate, lips crashing into a wet, desperate kiss. Fox’s curly hair falls forward as De Armas strips his shirt away, bare chest pressing against the slick, muscled back, their tongues tangling while hands roam, one gripping a thick thigh, the other sliding up to cup a heavy, straining cock. The air thickens with the sound of skin meeting skin, the only backdrop the rough grain of the crate as they tear at each other’s clothes, leaving nothing between them but, hungry need.
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