Lucas Davidson grips the sweat-slicked ball between his thighs while Paul Walker kneels behind Jordan Jacobs, his fingers probing the tight hole with deliberate pressure. The bench creaks under Jordan’s weight as Davidson leans in, his mouth sealing over the asshole with a wet, hungry sound, while Walker’s other hand strokes his own cock in slow, steady pulls. Muscles ripple under the fluorescent lights as fingers dig deeper, the ball bouncing once against the locker door before being tossed aside, now only hands and mouths move, the air thick with the scent of sweat and need.
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