The Conquest

Years earlier, Marko Pacyna and Nikolas Kiss swap tales of a hard-won battle, guns blazing, while their younger comrades Franco Corsini and Jozsef Kovacs hang on every word. Nikolas gripes that Marko savored the soft, willing rewards of triumph without sharing the feast. Marko grins, pulling Nikolas close to make amends—he strokes the man's chest, kisses his neck with slow hunger, and peels away his uniform layer by layer. Franco and Jozsef watch, then mirror the move, hands roaming, lips brushing, clothes hitting the floor until all four stand bare, skin flushed and ready. They stroke firm lengths, suck with greedy mouths, building to a wild frenzy of gasps and thrusts. Marko bends Nikolas forward, slides in deep with a groan, claiming him fully. Beside them, Franco sinks onto Jozsef's rigid cock, riding the heat. The pace quickens, bodies slamming, until one by one, each man shudders and spills his load in hot release.