Max Martin, the shaved-headed, tattooed one, pins Wade Westin, slim, smooth-skinned, against the couch with his weight as Wade’s lips wrap tight around his cock. They strip each other bare mid-act, fingers diving into assholes while Max grips Wade’s hips, driving deep with a rough, unhurried rhythm. The couch creaks under them as Wade’s hole clenches around him, the only sound the wet slap of flesh and his ragged breaths.
