Take It

David hunkered down in the barn, wrench in hand, coaxing life back into his old car's engine. Sweat traced lazy paths down his neck, staining his shirt. From the window, Peter watched, pulse quickening at the flex of David's shoulders, the raw focus in his eyes. Heat bloomed sudden and fierce between them, a spark igniting dry tinder. Peter slipped inside, door creaking shut like a secret whispered. David's gaze lifted, locked on, and the air thickened with unspoken hunger. They collided without words, mouths crashing, hands roaming urgent paths over heated skin. David's callused fingers gripped Peter's hips, pulling him close, grinding hard against the insistent bulge straining denim. Peter gasped, nipping at David's jaw, tasting salt and want. They stripped fast—shirts flung, pants shoved down—bodies slick and pressing, cocks sliding together in a rhythm that built like thunder. David's breath ragged in Peter's ear, urging him on as they rutted fierce, backs against the rough wood wall. The barn groaned with them, rafters trembling from the force of their frenzy. Pleasure coiled tight, unbreakable, until it snapped—David first, spilling hot between them without a single stroke, Peter following in shuddering waves, untouched, lost to the wild peak of it all.