Mountain Tops Part 1

Tate Ryder and Sebastian Rossi slip into a hidden clearing, ditching the cooler and camping gear. They nuzzle close, playful as young colts in heat. Shirts hit the dirt. Their hands map the hard planes of each other's chests, fingers tracing ridges of muscle with hungry intent. Tate dips his tongue into Sebastian's navel, circling slow. His palm dives beneath the denim waistband, kneading the thickening shaft until it strains rigid against the fabric. Fully erect now, Tate tugs the jeans free. Sebastian's body gleams like polished stone—every line carved, unyielding—and his uncut cock stands proud, foreskin loose and inviting. Tate stretches it with teasing pulls, then nips at it before swallowing deep, throat working the length while his mouth claims Sebastian's balls, sucking with firm, wet pulls. They claim the picnic table for a tangled 69, bodies aligned in urgent symmetry. Sebastian's tongue probes Tate's hole, making it quiver and clench. A soft 'ooh' escapes Tate as he takes the last inch of Sebastian's cock down his throat, sealing the fit. They shift and wrestle, slick with need, until Sebastian straddles Tate in the bridge—thighs flexing as he sinks onto that throbbing length, riding with fierce rhythm. Muscles burn; exhaustion creeps in. They switch. Sebastian pins Tate missionary, thrusting deep and relentless. Sweat slicks their skin, rivers of it. Sebastian's hand pumps Tate's cock, stroking him to shattering release—ropes of cum spilling into Tate's navel, then spilling over the carved valleys of his abs. Tate's fingers tighten in those final, milking squeezes, unlocking Sebastian's own flood. A last, lingering kiss seals it all.