Oscar Roberts, the blond and smooth one, grips his bag while Deacon Hunter, broad-shouldered, inked, and already half-undressed, straddles a locker room bench, his fingers probing his own asshole. The close-up shows his slicked fingers and the taut hole as he works himself open, while Roberts watches, his own hand already wrapped around his cock, stroking with deliberate focus. The air hums with the sound of skin against skin as Hunter leans in, taking Roberts’ cock deep into his throat, the blond’s hips jerking forward in response. Their bodies move in sync, one fingered, one sucked, until the bench creaks under Hunter’s weight as he flips, pressing Roberts’ face into the wood while his own cock throbs, untouched but ready.
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