Tom Crua grips Yuri Adamov’s hips as he drives deep, the couch groaning under their weight while Yuri’s tattooed chest rises with ragged breaths. His fingers dig into the dark hair at the nape of Yuri’s neck as he sucks hard, the sound of wet lips and the slap of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. A helmet rests on the pillows beside them, forgotten in the heat, while Yuri’s fingers trace the lines of Tom’s back before slipping lower, teasing the tight hole that’s already slick with anticipation.
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