Layover - Los Angeles, Part 3

Brent Biscayne eases James Gates onto the massage table, the young man stripped bare and blissfully relaxed, ass up in the air. Brent's strong hands glide over James's skin, rubbing deep into the taut muscles, coaxing out every knot with firm, insistent kneads. Tension melts away under his touch. Then James flips over, exposing himself fully. Brent's gaze locks on that tempting length, and he dives in, lips wrapping around it with hungry fervor. He sucks feverishly, drawing it taut and throbbing, making James's hips buck with raw need. They trade spots in a heated rush. Now James takes charge, his mouth descending on Brent's cock with skillful precision—swirling tongue, teasing suction that builds the fire fast. Brent groans, his control fraying; he can't wait any longer. He needs to bury himself inside. Zeroing in on James's tight ass, Brent positions and thrusts home, his dick plunging in and out with urgent rhythm. James's thighs tremble, quivering like leaves in a storm, while soft whimpers and sharp gasps escape his lips as Brent screws him relentlessly, driving deeper with each pounding stroke. Finally, they pull apart, breaths ragged. Each man grips his own slick cock, stroking with frantic purpose. Pleasure crests in waves until they both shatter—nuts busting wide open, cum spilling hot and messy across their heaving bodies.