Tall Tail

Scott Lyons caught the glint in Kyle Reardon's eye, that plumber's gaze lingering too long on more than just the kitchen sink. A smirk tugged at Scott's lips. He set down his coffee mug, the steam curling like an invitation. Kyle straightened from the pipes, his tool belt slung low on hips that spoke of hard labor and harder desires. No words needed. Scott closed the distance in two strides, his hand grazing Kyle's stubbled jaw. Kyle's breath hitched, rough fingers already unbuckling Scott's belt with practiced ease. They tumbled against the counter, shirts yanked off in a frenzy of heated skin and urgent mouths. Kyle's callused palms mapped Scott's chest, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked like ripe fruit. Scott groaned, shoving Kyle's pants down to free that thick cock, already straining and slick with want. He dropped to his knees, tongue tracing the vein pulsing along its length before swallowing him deep, the salty taste flooding his senses. Kyle's hips bucked, fingers threading through Scott's hair, guiding the rhythm. Then Kyle pulled him up, spun him around, bending Scott over the sink. Lube from Kyle's kit—practical man—smeared generous and cool. He pressed in slow at first, stretching Scott with a burn that melted into bliss, then thrust hard, their bodies syncing like pistons in a flawless engine. Sweat slicked their skin; grunts echoed off tiles. Scott's hand fisted his own aching length, stroking in time with Kyle's relentless drive. Climax hit them together—Kyle spilling hot inside, Scott marking the counter with ropes of release. They slumped, panting, two men oiled and spent, the pipes forgotten in the wake of their perfect union.