He's Got The Moves

Moving day heat has Connor Kline drenched in sweat. He strips off his clinging t-shirt and wipes the sheen from his chiseled torso. Smooth pecs frame those rippling abs, trailing down to a line of fur that's an easy path to follow. Ray Diaz can't tear his eyes away. Connor catches the stare and smirks, flashing his thick bush before pressing the damp shirt against Ray's face. Ray's dick strains hard against his jeans, twitching like a spring uncoiling. He darts his tongue out, tasting Connor's salty skin, then traces upward to bury it in that warm armpit. Hands greedy, Ray tugs Connor's shorts down and swallows his cock whole, lips sealing tight in wet heat. Connor groans into the suction but craves more—he hauls Ray up, peels off his clothes, freeing that lean, sculpted frame to the air. Ray dives lower, zeroing in on the perfect curve of Connor's ass. His tongue dances: lapping cheeks, sucking the cleft, probing deep inside. Tension hums thick between them as Connor spins Ray around and thrusts into his fuzzy hole from behind, filling him with steady power. Ray flips onto the floor in a shoulder stand, legs high, while Connor pounds down from above. Balls tight and pulsing, Ray unleashes ropes of cum across his chest and further, just as Connor coats his cock and sack in a hot flood of his own release.