Take Ten

Under the relentless kiss of a sunny afternoon in the park, a sailor and a marine lock eyes. Uniforms crisp, bodies taut with unspoken challenge. Instant heat flares between these young studs—USN blue clashing against USMC green. No words needed. The contest ignites: who yields first, who bends to the other's unyielding grip? Muscles strain, breaths quicken. Hands roam bold over dog tags and camo, pulling shirts aside to trace sweat-slicked abs. The sailor pins the marine against a shaded oak, lips crashing in a fierce claim, tongues battling for dominance. But the marine twists free, shoves back hard, yanking the sailor's pants low to expose his throbbing need. Fingers wrap tight, stroking with rough intent, coaxing moans that echo the park's quiet hush. Legs entwine, hips grind in a rhythm of raw surrender. Who breaks first? The sailor's gasp betrays him as the marine's mouth descends, hot and demanding, swallowing him whole. Submission seals the win—bodies spent, uniforms rumpled, victory tasted on skin.