Marco Napoli’s thick fingers spread Gabe Bradshaw’s hole wide while he kneels between his legs, the slick sound of lube mixing with the sharp intake of breath as he prepares for the first slow, probing stretch. The muscular, dark-haired man on the table arches his back, lips parted as Napoli’s tongue traces the tight ring before his fingers slide deep inside, fingers already slick with prep. The medical table creaks under the weight of Bradshaw’s spread legs, his chest hair dark against the cold metal as Napoli’s beard brushes his inner thighs before the first thick, measured thrust drives into him.
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