Take It

The door swings open, and there he stands—Sergeant Jake, fresh from the dust and heat of deployment, eyes locked on Bill like a man starved. His uniform clings, sweat-salted and tight, but it's the hunger in his gaze that strips it all away. Bill, lounging on the couch with a beer, freezes. Jake doesn't speak. He crosses the room in three strides, grabs Bill by the collar, and pulls him up for a kiss that bruises lips and tastes of salt and need. Jake's hands roam rough, unbuttoning Bill's shirt with fingers that tremble just enough to betray the months of want. He shoves Bill against the wall, mouth trailing down his neck, biting at the pulse point. Bill gasps, but Jake's already on his knees, yanking open Bill's belt. The zipper rasps like a promise. Jake takes Bill in deep, throat working with a soldier's discipline, no mercy, no pause. Bill's fingers twist in Jake's short hair, pulling hard. Not enough. Jake rises, spins Bill around, and pins him face-first to the wall. Pants pool at ankles. Jake spits into his palm, slicks himself quick—his own cock thick and aching, freed from fatigues. He thrusts in without warning, filling Bill in one brutal slide. Bill groans, arches back, meets the rhythm. Jake pounds hard, hips snapping, each drive a claim on what he's missed. Sweat slicks their skin; the room fills with grunts and the slap of flesh. They shift. Bill pushes back, takes control for a beat—straddling Jake on the floor now, riding him reverse, ass clenching tight. Jake's hands grip those hips, guiding, bruising. Then it's Jake again, flipping Bill onto all fours, entering from behind once more, deeper this time, angling for that spot that makes Bill curse and beg. They switch again—Bill on top, facing him, grinding down slow then frantic, their cocks rubbing slick between them. Finally, Jake hauls Bill up, backs him to the bed. Legs over shoulders, he drives in face-to-face, watching every flicker of pleasure cross Bill's face. They come together—Jake spilling hot inside, Bill painting their stomachs white—bodies locked, breaths ragged. Jake collapses, still buried deep, whispering, 'If you want it, work for it.' But they both know: they've earned every inch.