Jonah Marx & Logan Vaughn

Jonah Marx grips Logan Vaughn’s hips, slamming him into the mat with the strength of a controlled fall, his own blond muscle straining as he pins the darker-haired man’s shoulders. The bow and arrow prop snaps between them like a weapon, Logan’s asshole glistening as Marx’s fingers probe deep before his mouth seals around it, teeth grazing skin. Their wrestling locks twist into something more, hands gripping, bodies locked, the mat stained where one’s tongue laps at the other’s hole.