Night Flight

Kurt Marshall lounged by the crackling fire, its warm glow dancing across his skin as he waited for Joe Gere. Patience wrapped around him like a soft blanket, but beneath it simmered a deeper hunger. The door creaked open at last, and there stood Joe, wind-tousled and weary from the day. Kurt rose swiftly, eyes locking onto his lover's with a spark that promised more than words could hold. He closed the distance in three strides, hands sliding up Joe's chest to pull him into a kiss—fierce, demanding, tasting of all the hours apart. Joe's breath hitched, but he melted into it, letting Kurt guide him toward the rug's edge. Clothes fell away in hurried tugs: shirts unbuttoned, belts unbuckled, pants shoved down with urgent need. Kurt pressed Joe down gently, then not so gently, his body covering the other's in a heated claim. He entered Joe slowly at first, savoring the tight, welcoming heat, then thrust deeper, harder, each movement a rhythm of raw desire. Joe's moans filled the room, mingling with the fire's snap, as Kurt fucked him thoroughly—possessive strokes building to a shattering peak. Sweat-slicked and spent, they collapsed together, the fire's embers mirroring the afterglow in their eyes.