Badlands

In the dim hum of the slow freight elevator, rising to the loft for rent, Kirk Mannheim couldn't resist. He dropped to his knees before Holtz, fingers fumbling with the zipper, freeing that thick cock. Holtz leaned back against the rattling metal wall, breath hitching as Kirk's warm mouth enveloped him, tongue swirling with urgent hunger. The ascent dragged on, floors ticking by like teasing heartbeats. Kirk pulled back just enough to spin Holtz around, spreading those firm cheeks and diving in, tongue lapping at the tight rim, tasting salt and desire. Holtz groaned, gripping the rail, the elevator's grind mirroring his building ache. Up top, Jack Egan waited, keys jingling in his pocket. He eyed Kirk stepping out, flushed and bold, and grinned with wolfish intent. 'Like what you see?' Jack murmured, voice low and laced with promise. Kirk didn't hesitate—he pushed Jack against the exposed brick wall of the empty loft, yanking down his pants. Jack's cock sprang free, hard and ready. Kirk sank to his knees again, lips parting to take him deep, sucking with a rhythm that made Jack's hips buck, fingers tangling in Kirk's hair. Holtz emerged moments later, the elevator doors clanging shut behind him. He paused, taking in the sight: Kirk on his knees, Jack's face twisted in pleasure. A sly smile curved Holtz's lips. He stripped off his shirt, joining them in a heated tangle. Hands roamed, mouths met in sloppy kisses. Holtz claimed Jack's ass with firm thrusts while Kirk's cock found its way into Jack's eager mouth. They moved as one, bodies slick and urgent, the loft echoing with gasps and the raw slap of skin—three men lost in the sweet chaos of shared release.