Sean Duran grips a rifle while Ricky Larkin kneels behind him, his bearded jaw shadowed as he works the man’s ass with rough precision. The olive-skinned, tattooed pair sprawl across a couch draped in military camo, Duran’s shaved head pressed into the cushions as Larkin’s fingers dig deep. A smartphone clutches between them, the screen bright against the dim light, while one licks, the other sucks, no hesitation, just the weight of their bodies and the way they take each other.
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