Convictions, Part 2

Lane Fuller sprawls across his bed, hand wrapped tight around his throbbing cock, eyes locked on the screen where Marcus Iron dominates the frame. The video's heat builds, and suddenly Marcus materializes—solid, commanding, real. Their lips crash together in a hungry kiss, tongues tangling with urgent fire. Marcus drops low, mouth enveloping Lane's cock in a slick, devouring pull. He rises, squeezes their shafts together—hot, pulsing flesh grinding as one—then thrusts into Lane's eager face, fucking his throat with steady, relentless rhythm. Lane arches, ass high in brazen offer. Marcus dives in, fingers teasing the tight ring, tongue lapping deep at the hole while Lane gulps down his cock, throat bulging with the effort. They twist into a fevered 69, mouths devouring in mirrored bliss. Marcus pulls back, positions Lane on all fours, and drives in from behind—thick cock stretching, pounding with raw power. He flips Lane onto his back, legs splayed wide, and hammers deeper, hips slamming in unyielding cadence. The onslaught shatters Lane; he erupts, cum jetting across his stomach in thick ropes. Grateful, Lane laps at Marcus's heavy balls as Marcus strokes his own shaft, then unleashes—hot spurts painting Lane's chest in sticky triumph. Throughout the haze, flickers intrude: Brett Michaels stroking himself slow and deliberate in a shadowed corner of the dream, Jeremy Tucker reclining languid, body arched in idle tease. They vanish and return like ghosts in the fever, silent witnesses to the storm.