Nighthawken

Under the cloak of midnight, Milos Janek and Daniel Ruzovy strolled the shadowed streets, their footsteps echoing softly against the cold pavement. They slipped into a narrow alley, the air thick with unspoken hunger, until they reached a weathered porch— a hidden sanctuary for their cravings. There, in the dim glow, they dropped to their knees, mouths eager and urgent. Janek's lips wrapped around Ruzovy's throbbing length, drawing out gasps and shudders, while Ruzovy returned the favor with a slow, teasing suck that left them both aching. The handsome Janek, eyes dark with lust, soon took charge. He bent Ruzovy over the porch railing, gripping his hips firmly, and thrust deep from behind in a raw, relentless rhythm—doggy style, bodies slamming together in a symphony of slick skin and ragged breaths.