Aston Springs grips Phoenix Fellington’s hips as he kneels, tongue deep in his throat while the shaved-head man’s tattoos ripple under the garage lights. The blond leans against the red tool storage, fingers slick with lube as he fingers Phoenix’s hole before sliding inside, the workbench creaking under their weight. Phoenix’s dark skin glistens as Aston rims him, then flips him over for a rough fuck, the garage’s hum the only sound beyond their grunts.
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