Naval Studs

Daniel Kriley wiped the grease from his hands, staring at the engine bay of his beat-up truck. The thing was a mess—leaking oil, sputtering like a dying beast. He needed help, and fast. Tomas Dombai leaned against the workbench, his overalls unzipped just enough to tease the hard lines of his chest. A smirk played on his lips as he eyed Daniel's frustration. "I can fix that engine for you," Tomas said, his voice low and rough, like gravel under tires. "Maintain it, service it proper. Make it purr again." Daniel paused, wiping sweat from his brow. Relief flickered in his eyes, but Tomas wasn't done. He stepped closer, the air thickening with unspoken heat. "But only if you return the favor. Service my engine too." His hand dropped to his crotch, palming the growing bulge through the denim. "This cock, these balls, this ass. Get them running smooth, and we're square." Daniel's pulse quickened. The offer hung there, bold and unapologetic—a dirty bargain in the dim garage light. He nodded, the deal sealing with a hungry glance.