Dan Broughton & Tristan Wood

Dan Broughton grips Tristan Wood’s hips as he kneels, his tattooed arms flexing over the soccer field diagrams in the background while Tristan stands with his head tilted back, throat exposed. One fingers the tight hole while the other sucks hard, tongues and teeth working in tandem until the first deep thrust splits them open. The air fills with the wet sounds of rimming and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin as they strip away clothes, leaving only sweat and need.