Under Fire

In the sun-dappled field, Peter Krisztia paced with measured steps, his keen eyes fixed on Colby Tavers and Serge Istavan as they fired at distant targets. Bullets cracked through the air, each shot a sharp punctuation to the rhythm of their practice. Krisztia nodded approval, his voice firm as he corrected their stances. Then, with a curt word, he strode away, leaving the two men alone amid the scent of gunpowder and earth. The instant his footsteps faded, Colby dropped his rifle and turned to Serge. Their mouths met in a hungry clash, tongues tangling with urgent need. Serge's hands gripped Colby's shoulders, pulling him closer as they sank to their knees in the grass. Colby freed Serge's hardening cock from his pants, lips parting to take it deep, sucking with slow, deliberate pulls that drew a low groan from Serge's throat. Serge reciprocated swiftly, his mouth enveloping Colby's length in wet, fervent heat, their breaths ragged as they devoured each other, bodies arching in shared rhythm. But Krisztia returned sooner than expected, his shadow falling over them like a command. He paused, a sly smile curling his lips, then knelt between his students. With authoritative grace, he sampled their efforts—first Colby's rigid shaft, his tongue tracing the pulsing vein before swallowing him whole, then Serge's, drawing out moans that echoed the field's quiet. The three entwined now, Krisztia's mouth alternating between them, tasting the salt of their arousal in this brazen lesson of desire.