Killian Knox kneels over Andy Adler’s spread legs, his fingers probing the tight hole while Adler grips the headboard, his red skin flushed. The stethoscope pressed to his back marks the only sound, his ragged breath as Knox’s tongue traces the rim before slipping inside. A clipboard rests unused beside them, its pages blank, while Adler’s cock twitches, forgotten in the heat of being stretched open. The bed creaks as Knox flips him, driving into Adler’s ass with a slow, deliberate thrust, the medical tools forgotten in the grip of, unfiltered need.
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