He's Got The Moves

Lucas Knight and Duncan Black both lunge for the same heavy moving carton. They twist their necks to dodge a head bump, but their lips collide instead. That stolen kiss ignites something fiercer than unpacking—clothes hit the floor in a hurried tangle. Duncan's eyes widen at the sight of Lucas's endowment. 'Damn... huge cock,' he breathes, voice thick with hunger. But Duncan knows his way around a monster like that; he drops to his knees and makes it vanish, throat working every fat, veiny inch with effortless greed. Lucas's sleek torso rocks in rhythm, hips swaying like a pendulum caught in Duncan's spell. And those balls—low-hanging and full, the kind that demand attention—sway heavy between his thighs. Duncan savors the feast for ages, drawing it out until they break away, lips crashing together while their cocks grind slick and urgent. Duncan's lean frame sports hairy legs, a sparse trail of chest fur, and a wild bush of pubes framing his own stiff length. At last, he claims his reward: Lucas's mouth on him, hot and commanding. Lucas takes control step by deliberate step—first devouring Duncan's cock with slow, teasing pulls, then burying his face in that ass, tongue probing deep and unhurried, mapping every quiver. When Lucas finally thrusts in, his thick shaft nails Duncan's prostate with ruthless precision, pounding doggie-style until Duncan's moans turn ragged. They shift to cowboy, Duncan riding hard, impaled and bouncing, Lucas's hand wrapped firm around his cock, stroking in time with the plunge. Reverse cowboy follows, the angle wicked and deep. In missionary, they lock eyes one final time—bodies slick, breaths synced—before release crashes over them in twin, gushing bursts.