Wild Country

Sweat-soaked from a brutal day of splitting logs, Alec Campbell drops his axe and turns to Scott Hardman. Their eyes lock, heavy with unspoken want. Scott steps close, his callused hand gripping Alec's shirt, pulling him in. Lips crash together—rough, urgent, tasting salt and earth. Alec's fingers dig into Scott's broad back, yanking him tighter. They stumble against the woodpile, shirts torn off in a frenzy, exposing sun-browned skin marked by fresh scratches. Scott's mouth trails down Alec's neck, biting just hard enough to draw a gasp. Alec shoves Scott's jeans down, freeing his thick cock, already throbbing and slick at the tip. He strokes it firmly, thumb circling the head, while Scott growls and returns the favor, palming Alec's hardness through denim before ripping it away. They grind together, bare and insistent, cocks sliding slick against each other. Scott spins Alec around, pressing him face-first into the logs. He spits into his palm, slicks himself up, then pushes in—slow at first, stretching Alec with a burn that melts into fire. Alec bucks back, meeting every thrust, their bodies slapping in raw rhythm. Scott's hand wraps around Alec's shaft, pumping hard as he drives deeper, chasing release. Tension from the day shatters; they come undone together, spilling hot and messy, more than just the hours' strain pouring out.