Connor Halstead pins Jack Gunther over the locker room bench, his grip tight on the shorter man’s hips as he drives in hard, the wet sounds of flesh slapping filling the space. Jack’s fingers dig into the wood behind him while Connor’s beard scrapes his neck, his breath ragged as he works the thick cock buried deep. The air smells of sweat and musk, the bench creaking under their weight as one pulls back only to slam forward again, the other’s ass clenching around him.
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