Arthur Kral grips Erik Franke’s hips, his lean frame pressing down as he drives into him hard, the guitar propped against the wall forgotten. Franke’s smooth, light brown hair falls forward as Kral’s fingers dig into his waist, his mouth locked on his throat while his ass takes every thrust. The air thickens with the sound of skin slapping, the bareback weight of Kral’s cock filling him deep before he pulls back just enough to lick the sweat from Franke’s collarbone.
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