Freddy Miller’s stocky frame pins Ken Summers to the bed as his beard scrapes against the other’s jaw, fingers digging into hips that ripple with muscle. Ken’s dark hair falls forward as Freddy’s weight presses him down, lips parting for a rough kiss while calloused hands grip the sheets. The standing man’s grip tightens, pulling Ken’s body flush against his as their breath syncs with the slow, deliberate thrusts.
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