Blain O’Connor & Flynn Fenix at CockyBoys
A romantic photoshoot until lunch and a sex marathon afterwards. This is what CockyBoys has prepared for us, featuring Flynn Fenix and Blain O’Connor. Back at Blain’s loft, the hose became a weapon first–Blain spraying Flynn’s thighs to rinse the mud, water sluicing under his shirt until transparent fabric clung to taut abs. Flynn retaliated, wrestling the nozzle away and aiming it straight at Blain’s crotch. The hiss of the water cut off abruptly as Blain’s hands pinned Flynn against the brick wall, wet denim straining against the hard outline of his cock. “Careful,” Blain murmured, thumb swiping mud from Flynn’s jawline. “Playing dirty’s my specialty.”
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The shower started practical–shoulders scrubbed clean under steaming jets–but faltered when Blain’s teeth grazed Flynn’s earlobe. Flynn sank to his knees without a word, tongue dragging up the length of Blain’s shaft before taking him deep, gag reflex flaring as Blain’s hips jerked forward. A hand fisted in Flynn’s hair, guiding him faster until Blain pulled him up, spun him roughly, and shoved him against the tiles. Flynn’s breath fogged the glass as Blain’s tongue speared his hole, spit-slick and relentless, before pressing into him raw. Flynn’s knuckles whitened against the shower wall, throat raw from curses turned pleasured howls.
Dripping and still half-hard, they stumbled to the kitchen. Flynn braced himself on the granite counter, ass lifted as Blain’s tongue circled his rim again, this time slower, savoring. A calloused hand pumped Flynn’s cock in time with each lick until he came with a shout, streaks of white staining the tile. Blain flipped him over, hoisting Flynn’s legs over his shoulders, and drove back into him, pace brutal. The mirror steamed opaque as Flynn’s head fell back, Blain’s fingers forcing his mouth open to suck them clean. “Fuck, look at you,” Blain growled, hips snapping faster. “Take it–take all of it.”
When Blain finally spilled, it wasn’t inside–he tore out at the last second, ropes of cum painting Flynn’s hole and the floor beneath. Flynn lay breathless, limbs splayed like a wreck, until Blain hauled him upright, kissing him deeply. “So,” Blain smirked, thumb wiping a stray drop from Flynn’s lip. “How’s that for a first date?”
