Basic Plumbing 2

Christopher Scott's kitchen sink clogs up, a stubborn mess of standing water and grease. Mike Branson shows up, toolbox in hand, ready to dive in. He crawls under the cabinet, wrench turning, when the pipe bursts—hot, soapy overflow soaks his shirt, plastering it to his muscled chest. Christopher watches, eyes lingering, then offers to toss the wet thing in the wash. Mike peels it off, revealing a chiseled torso dusted with dark hair, the air thick with sudden tension. Minutes tick by. Mike catches Christopher in the laundry room, nose buried in the damp shirt, inhaling deeply, lost in the musky scent. A sly grin spreads across Mike's face. He decides to up the ante—something rawer, more immediate. He unzips, pulls out his thick cock, already hardening, veins pulsing with promise. Christopher drops to his knees, mouth opening wide, eager. He takes it down, lips stretching around the girth, tongue swirling. Mike teases, pulling back just as Christopher leans in, then slaps the wet head against his cheek—sharp, playful stings that make Christopher moan. He thrusts forward again, sliding deep into the tight throat, holding there until Christopher gags, eyes watering, but hungry for more. The two studs switch, tongues probing asses now—Mike's beard scraping Christopher's cheeks as he rims him slow and deep, then Christopher returning the favor, lapping at Mike's hole like it's the sweetest vice. Mike can't wait. He positions Christopher, spreads those firm cheeks, and drives his cock in—deep, unyielding. He pounds with hard, unforgiving thrusts, hips snapping like a piston, each one drawing a guttural groan. Grabbing the waistband of Christopher's jockstrap, Mike yanks him back, riding him like a bronco buster in heat, the fabric straining under the pull. They collapse onto their sides, bodies slick with sweat. Mike keeps the rhythm relentless, burrowing his cock up Christopher's hole, grinding in circles that hit every nerve. Christopher's breaths come ragged, his own dick leaking pre-cum onto the floor. Mike holds out as long as he can, muscles taut, then pulls free—showering Christopher in ropes of hot cum, painting his chest and abs in a sticky, triumphant release.