Best Buddies

Bobby Clark's pulse quickens with raw hunger. He wonders if that delivery boy—his favorite—is working today. Luck strikes: Nick Sterling pulls up, broad chest straining his uniform, clipped beard framing a knowing grin, muscular legs flexing as he hauls the bags. Bobby's order was for groceries, sure, but his real craving is Nick, with that light fur dusting his skin like a secret invitation. Bobby's hands roam bold and unapologetic, groping the solid heat of Nick's body. 'No time today,' Nick mutters, voice rough but eyes flickering with heat. Bobby whispers promises of a quickie, and just like that, resistance crumbles. Blow jobs lead the charge. Nick drops to his knees first, but Bobby takes control—sucking Nick deep, tongue swirling over the thick length until Nick's breath hitches. Now it's Bobby's turn. He grabs Nick's ears, feeding him inch by inch, watching those piercing eyes lock on as Nick works Bobby's cock and balls with expert hunger. Saliva gleams, lips stretch tight—Bobby's knees buckle under the onslaught. He squats low, spreads Nick's flawless, creamy buns, and dives in. His tongue flickers at a dizzying speed, drawing mooing moans from Nick's throat, each one a low, animal plea. Bobby loosens him with slow, deliberate strokes, savoring the tight grip. Then he ramps it up—short, sharp thrusts that make Nick arch and gasp. They flip to a sit-fuck, Nick impaling himself hard, slamming down with precision. He fine-tunes the angle, the pressure, chasing that perfect friction until Bobby erupts—a huge cum shot arcs across the room. But Bobby holds back just enough, pulling out to paint Nick's furry chest with the rest, hot ropes marking territory in sticky triumph.