Peter Uman grips Tomas Salek’s hips as he drives into him, the slick sound of lube cutting through the air, while Tomas’s fingers dig into the sheets, his dark hair damp with sweat. Uman’s beard brushes his asshole as he pulls back, then slams forward again, the stretch of muscle visible around the tight ring. Tomas’s mouth seals over his own hole, tongue tracing the puckered entrance before his fingers push inside, slick and relentless. The bed creaks under their weight as Uman’s grip tightens, his thrusts growing harder, each one deeper.
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