Two broad-shouldered men, one with a thicket of dark hair, the other slick and blond, rip their shirts off in a parking lot, the maroon-clad one’s sleeves pooling at his feet as they crowd against a car’s hood. The bearded one kneels, his tongue tracing the tight ring of the other’s asshole while his fingers work the hole open, the tattoos on his arms flexing as he holds him steady. The air smells like gasoline and sweat as they shift between licking, stretching, and gripping, the fence and passing cars a silent witness to the way they move.
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