Happy Campers

They lost the trail hours ago. Heath Halo and Joe Vanni bounced along a rutted fire road until even the GPS gave up. Another turn, one more muddy dip, and the woods opened into a sunlit meadow. Joe killed the engine. Quiet stretched between them, broken only by the tick of cooling metal. Heath leaned back in the passenger seat, thighs spread, cock already half-hard against his zipper. Joe looked at it, licked his bottom lip, and dropped to his knees in the footwell. He dragged the zipper down, freed the thick length, and swallowed it in one slow, wet pull. Heath groaned, fingers threading through Joe’s dark hair, hips lifting to fuck his mouth in steady strokes. The blond pulled off, spit stringing from his lips, then climbed out and stripped. He bent over the seat, ass presented, cheeks parted by his own hands. Heath knelt behind him, beard scraping sensitive skin as he licked long stripes over Joe’s hole, tongue pushing inside until the jock trembled. Spit ran down Joe’s crack; Heath chased every drop. When Joe was slick and open, Heath stood, lined up, and pushed in bare. The stretch drew a raw sound from Joe’s throat. Heath gripped his hips and started fucking, deep and unhurried, every thrust shoving Joe forward against the roll cage. Sweat gathered under Heath’s pecs and dripped onto Joe’s back. The only sounds were skin meeting skin and the creak of suspension. Joe came first, untouched, ropes striping the seat and Heath’s waiting tongue as the top leaned down to catch them. The clench around Heath’s cock dragged him over; he buried himself to the hilt and pumped his load deep, breeding Joe’s hole until cum leaked out around his shaft and down the jock’s smooth taint.