Sven Laarson grips Xander Hollis’s hips while he kneels, his military uniform already discarded, the leather belt still cinched tight around his waist as he works his tongue deep into the other man’s throat. Xander’s lean frame arches under Sven’s fingers, his hole already slick as he’s fingered open, the concrete floor cold beneath them. The cowboy’s muscular thighs clamp down hard when Sven finally lines up, the first thrust rough and unrelenting as they move together in the abandoned space.
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