Enzo Muller’s beard presses into Marcus McNeill’s chest as he grips his hips, fingers already working the tight hole while the clean-shaven man arches into the touch. The bench creaks under their weight as Enzo’s mouth seals over McNeill’s cock, teeth scraping the shaft before he pulls back to lick the pre-cum slicking his balls. Behind them, the locker room’s metal shelves reflect the sweat glistening on their hairy chests, the air thick with the scent of soap and exertion.
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