The Other Side Of Aspen III: Snowbound

Johnny Hanson grips the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as Cliff Parker slides onto his lap in the front seat of the battered truck. Winter bites at the windows, frosting the glass, but inside, their breaths tangle in hot, urgent clouds. Johnny's hands roam under Cliff's shirt, fingers tracing the hard ridges of muscle, pulling him closer until their hips grind with raw intent. Cliff's mouth claims Johnny's, teeth nipping at full lips, tongues dueling in a slick, demanding rhythm that sets the cab humming. Jackets hit the floorboard. Belts unbuckle with a sharp clink. Johnny frees Cliff's cock first—thick, pulsing—and strokes it firm and slow, thumb circling the slick tip while Cliff moans into his neck. They shift, awkward in the tight space, but necessity sharpens every move. Cliff reciprocates, yanking Johnny's jeans down just enough, wrapping his callused palm around the throbbing length he finds there. Pre-cum beads, smears under urgent friction. The truck rocks gently as Johnny lifts Cliff, guiding him down onto his own rigid shaft—bare, skin to skin, inch by aching inch until they're fully joined. Cliff rides him then, hips snapping in a fierce, building tempo, walls clenching tight around Johnny's girth. Sweat slicks their skin despite the chill. Johnny thrusts up to meet him, one hand fisting Cliff's hair, the other digging into his ass, urging deeper, harder. Gasps turn to growls. Climax crashes through them—Cliff spilling hot over Johnny's chest, Johnny pulsing deep inside as the world narrows to that shuddering peak. They slump together, the engine's faint rumble the only sound left in the steamy hush.