Double Vision

Bruce Spalding's hands trembled as he jimmied the rusted lock, the cell door groaning open like a sigh of long-denied relief. Greg Ross stumbled into the dim light, his eyes locking onto Bruce with raw hunger. No words passed between them. Greg lunged forward, pinning Bruce against the cold stone wall, his mouth crashing down in a kiss that tasted of iron and desperation. Fingers clawed at shirts, ripping buttons free, exposing sweat-slicked skin. Greg dropped to his knees, palms rough on Bruce's thighs, yanking down pants with frantic urgency. His lips wrapped around Bruce's hardening cock, sucking deep and sloppy, tongue swirling with grateful fervor. Bruce gasped, threading fingers through Greg's matted hair, thrusting into the wet heat. Greg moaned around him, one hand stroking his own rigid length, balls tight against his grip. Bruce pulled him up, spinning him roughly, bending him over the narrow cot. He spat into his palm, slicking his shaft before plunging in—hard, deep, Greg's ass clenching like a vice. They fucked with abandon, bodies slapping, grunts echoing off the walls. Greg arched back, begging for more, his release spilling hot across the sheets as Bruce followed, filling him with a guttural roar. Gratitude, etched in every shuddering breath.