James Oakleigh fists Luka Sage

James Oakleigh’s fist stretches Luka Sage’s tight hole open, fingers knuckling deep while the warehouse’s metal beams loom behind them. The blond’s muscular chest glistens as he leans over pipes, sucking hard enough to make Luka’s grip on his shoulders tighten, then his own fist slides in, slow and deliberate. Work boots clatter against concrete as they shift positions, the dark-haired one fingering himself while Oakleigh’s tattooed arm braces him from behind.