Deception, Part 2

Nino Bacci and Brandon Warner tinkered with the old truck in the dim barn, grease streaking their hands. They glanced up at Josh Weston, shaking their heads. 'She's busted good,' Bacci said, wiping sweat from his brow. 'No other rides around here.' Weston nodded, eyes lingering as the two men turned to each other, hands roaming with sudden hunger. Fingers tugged at shirts, peeled away jeans. Skin gleamed under the faint light. Weston felt the stir in his gut, watched a beat too long—their bodies pressing close, breaths quickening—before slipping out, leaving them to stoke their fire alone. Bacci sank to his knees first, eyes locked on Warner's thick cock. He worshipped it like a devotee at an altar, lips parting slow to take the length in, sucking with deliberate pulls that drew out every shiver. His tongue swirled lower, slurping tenderly at Warner's smooth balls, savoring the weight of them. Warner groaned, then returned the favor—his mouth engulfing Bacci's shaft in a hot, urgent slide, tongue flicking the tip before he pulled back. He spun Bacci around, hands spreading firm cheeks. Warner's tongue dove into that hairy hole, lapping with greedy laps, rimming deep until Bacci bucked. Then Warner teased, his bare cock nudging right against the puckered entrance, pressing the swollen head firm but not breaching— a promise of what's next. Warner climbed into the truck bed, knees on the worn metal, ass up as he parted his own cheeks wide. Bacci buried his face there, devouring the tight pucker with ravenous licks, tongue probing inside while his hand stroked Warner's rigid cock from behind, milking it steady. Finally, Bacci bent over the tailgate, offering himself. Warner thrust in hard, burying deep in that welcoming heat. They rutted fierce—bodies slamming, sweat-slick skin slapping—until release hit them both. Cum sprayed hot across Bacci's chest and belly, leaving him a glistening, sticky ruin in the barn's shadowed hush.