Griffin Barrows and Armani

Griffin Barrows kneels as Armani stands, his fingers tracing the dark ink on his upper arm while the other leans into the wall, gripping himself with rough urgency. The toilet seat creaks under their weight as one bends over it, ass raised for the other’s mouth, while the first’s tongue swipes bareback across his hole, no barrier, just raw, unfiltered thrusts. The glory hole’s presence lingers in the framing, a silent promise as hands and mouths move between them, the porcelain cold against their skin.