Command Performance

The warehouse stretches out in endless rows of pianos—some destined for glittering concert halls, others awaiting careful repairs. Aiden Shaw, David Montana, and Alec Campbell sweat through their shirts, bodies slick and spent from the grind. Their muscles bulge, hardened by the brutal lift of baby grands, uprights, and those massive concert beasts. These overwrought men crave a break, but not just rest. No, they hunger for touch—something solid yet yielding, eager to give back. Another man's body. Each other's. The air thickens with it, and they collide like steam engines off the rails, raw masculinity igniting in a frenzy of need.