Logan Birch’s blond, smooth body presses into Rob Ryder’s as he grips his waist, fingers digging into the taut muscle of his back while their mouths crash together. The green backdrop blurs behind them as Logan pins Ryder against it, his grip shifting to the waistband of his blue-patterned shorts, pulling them down with rough urgency. Ryder’s hands clench the fabric, his breath ragged as Logan’s mouth leaves his, just long enough to yank the shorts free before burying his face between his thighs.
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