Rhys Jagger stands gripping Ian Roebuck’s hips while his cock slides deep into the tight, stretched hole, the dark hair framing a face pressed into the other’s shoulder as he chokes on the thick, salty length. Ian kneels with his ass raised, fingers already probing the slick entrance before Rhys buries himself to the root, the close-up framing the raw, bareback thrusts where no barrier holds them back. Their mouths crash together as one hand grips cock, the other pulls back just enough to let the head press against the puckered ring before driving forward again.
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