Lance Seawell and Walter Uwe

Lance Seawell’s broad, smooth back arches over a rough-hewn bench as Walter Uwe kneels in the damp earth, his lean fingers probing the tight ring of his asshole while Lance’s dark hair brushes the bark above him. The woods swallow their sounds, Walter’s tongue swipes over slick flesh, then pulls back to lap at Lance’s cock, only to pause mid-stroke as the blond grips his hips, guiding him deeper into the rocks and ferns.